


chiba city blues

by lazy_universes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Epilepsy, F/F, Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, mentions of trauma, past moicy, past phamercy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13472721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_universes/pseuds/lazy_universes
Summary: In trying to dismantle the Corporation, the conspiracy she had accidentaly unveiled, Sombra found herself making a series of questionable choices. Letting Overwatch capture her was probably not her brightest moment.Falling for Angela Ziegler, however, was much worse.(In which Sombra just want to adopt miniature cacti, a cat and a disabled rescue dog, but kinda needs to save the world first - teaming up with the woman who broke her heart. Such is life.)





	1. wintermute

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "I'm not joining another fandom until I pass my bar exam"
> 
> Also me: Buys overwatch, plays obsessively, writes fanfic, has endless conversations about OTPs with friends, cries a little before sleeping bc so much gay
> 
> (Moicy and Phamercy are past ships; SymPharah is a secondary ship and the main story is centered around Sommercy. Just clearing that out for you folks! I will get around answering all the comments eventually, but bear with the overwhelmed college student lmao)

_ Tantas veces me borraron, _

_ Tantas desaparecí, _

_ A mi propio entierro fui, _

_ Solo y llorando. _

_ Hice un nudo del pañuelo, _

_ Pero me olvidé después _

_ Que no era la única vez _

_ Y seguí cantando. _

  
  
  


**Dorado, July 22nd, 2062**

 

The book cover was completely overtaken by a crude, yet intricate drawing of a man sporting an old-fashioned headpiece covering his eyes, a rogue cigarette dangling from his chapped lips. The title, in bright neon green, spelled “Neuromancer”, although a good chunk of the “r” on the end was missing - the paper had been eaten up by moths, its old age making it especially crumbly. 

Books printed in paper were not only a rare sight in times like this, but downright a treasure. This very book she was holding was worth at least $8.000,00, with the cost of its retrieval and transportation aside, and she’d have to sell her soul twice over to the  _ calaveras _ to pay for whatever damage she made to the cargo. And yet. 

“Aren’t you going to leave it alone?” Ramón asked, slouched against her opposite wall. “You’re gonna grease them pages-”

“I’m wearing gloves,” she said, ”Besides, who asked you? Since when do you know shit about books?”   
“I don’t read,” Ramón said, shrugging. “But just ‘cause I never learned doesn’t mean I ain’t got no brains. What in the hell is in this book that it costs so much goddamn  _ plata _ ?”

“Hell if I know,” she said, absently. She turned a page carefully, engrossed in the plot. From the pages, the characters jumped into form in front of her eyes - the hacker Case, the razor-ninja-girl Molly and her body enhancements in an idea of the future that was a far stretch from reality, but well built enough she found it easy to believe in. She had started reading it out of curiosity and found she couldn’t stop herself from digging deeper into the story, completely hooked. “It’s a good book.”

“A good book,” Ramón scoffed “A good book is no book. Why read when you can watch it on a holoscreen?” 

“And this is why you’re twice my age and half my rank,” she said, smirking. “ _ Mira _ , If you read more, maybe you wouldn’t have to answer to a fifteen-year-old. Sucks to be you.”

If looks could kill, Ramón would have murdered her three times in the span of two seconds. He breathed in deeply. 

“You’re lucky the  _ calaveras _ like you so much, Olívia,” he muttered, bitterly. 

“I’m not lucky,  _ corazón _ . I’m simply  _ good _ ,” Olívia smirked, all danger and no real joy. If Ramón was a little bit savvier, he’d consider the tragedy of a girl so young with a smile so devoid of happiness and so full of threats, but Ramón was about as smart as a door lock. He could only do one thing, and that was shoot at people when told so. “Now, go stand watch.They’ll be here at any second and I want to finish this before I need to hand it over.”

Ramón groaned, but stood up and grabbed his rifle because, well. He might hate the girl’s guts, and might not have that many brain cells to speak of, but he wasn’t downright suicidal - hell would freeze over before he’d be crazy enough to defy Olívia Colomar to her face.

  
  
  


**Ciudad del Mexico, November 17th, 2076**

  
  


Sombra stepped out of the tattoo parlor with her hands in her pockets and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. She was sure she’d hidden a lighter somewhere in her coat, but became increasingly frustrated as her fingers dug around and came out empty. 

“ _ Mierda _ ,” she swore. Lighters, she supposed, where that kind of object that could easily become trapped in non-existential planes, like pens, bobby pins and erasers. The real shit was that she didn’t have use for any of those, but she’d lost at least five lighters in the past month alone, and felt like she could easily go bankrupt trying to keep up. 

Not that that would be easy, of course, but Sombra did like some hyperbole. 

Her left arm throbbed slowly, the kind of pain she’d become addicted to in the past years. Hidden under the layers of clothing, her newest piece wrapped in plastic film was a beautiful rendition of an ornate bust made of cloisonne over platinum, studded with lapis-lazuli and pearls. The holographic silver and blue ink shone under light, and the attention to detail was so incredible she almost teared up when she had seen the finished thing. But she had withstood three sessions of four hours each over the course of the past months, and now all she wanted was a cigarette and a huge burrito as a reward for her patience. 

She walked through the streets of Mexico City slowly, the mismatched agglomeration of old and new buildings wrapping around each other barely capturing her attention. The graffiti was far more interesting - in this part of the city, almost every wall was covered by drawings so colorful she felt like she was walking in a children’s movie, if children’s movies were full of social criticism and stark depictions of graphic violence. 

Her favorite graffiti was not far from the studio. She walked the five blocks that separated her from it carefully, until she saw, sprayed alongside a three-story building, the image of an angel rising from the dust and rubble of a destroyed city, carrying a small child. Her face was blanked, no facial features to be recognized, but her golden hair was wrapped in a ponytail and the halo around her head gave no doubts on whom might she be - but just in case there was any controversy, careful cursive writing spelled, right under her right wing -  _ misericordia. _

It’s the closest she could get to her nowadays, anyhow. 

  
  


Reaper was waiting in her kitchen when she unlocked her front door. 

To anyone else, it would be a picture of horror, the reality of impending doom - to her, however, it was a visit from a friend she’d sorely missed. 

“Hey Gabí,” she said, dropping her bag and keys on the table. She didn’t touch or kiss him, because she knew that he hated it, waving her hand and blowing him a kiss instead. 

“I have been waiting for you for over an hour, now,” Reaper said. He was a tall man - Sombra wondered why she never was intimidated by him every time he walked into the room, but then again, Sombra really wasn’t one to be intimidated easily. “Where have you been?”

“Keeping tabs on me now,  _ abuelo _ ?” Sombra laughed, and started the coffee machine. “I was finishing my tattoo. Wanna see it?” She said, but didn’t wait for his answer, unzipping her coat and pulling the loose shirt she was wearing up. “Look at this beauty!”

He didn’t stand, and if he took any notice that she was in front of him in nothing but a sports bra he gave no indication, but he inched his head closer to her arm for a closer look. The mask was an obvious hamper to his actual reaction, but his immediate silence told her he liked it enough. 

“What is that?” He asked. 

“Wintermute,” she chirped, excitedly. “It’s the computer terminal of the A.I in that Neuromancer book I told you about. And the quote here-” she puts her finger over a delicate cursive handwriting that looked to be draped over the bust, creating a halo-like effect around the drawing, and it read  _ ‘Things aren't different. Things are things’ _ , “that’s what it says to the main character, Case, when- well. I’m not going to spoil you on that. I have the book if you want, it’s pretty damn awesome.”

Reaper grunted, and she took that for an approval - smiling, she put her shirt back on. 

“Took me three four-hour sessions for this absolute masterpiece to be done. And then I had to stop for food and there was a dog in the foyer, so I couldn’t come up without giving him a good petting, y’know?”

Reaper grunted again. He did know. 

“Anyways, I was out for pretty much the entire day. Not that I owe you any explanations,” she winked, “I just do it because I love you. So, what can I do for you today, Gabí?” 

“There’s an infiltration mission,” he stated, “Very high risk. We need some intel on a rival company for Vishkar, but this specific company works closely with Overwatch. Vishkar pointed us to the files located in Barcelona, close enough to Gibraltar that any misstep would ensure they would storm the facility in record time.”

“ _ Bueno _ , we’ve done worse,” Sombra shrugged. “What’s the catch?” 

“The files aren’t connected to any mainframe that we know,” he said. “The hacking will have to be done personally. The Council specifically requested  _ you _ go.”

“Specifically,” she echoed. 

“Yes,” he said. “They are… reluctant to believe your version of the events at Volskaya. Even with my backing, they want proof of your loyalty... and my leadership.”

“Huh,” Sombra said, slowly letting herself sit on the chair opposite to Reyes. Something cold pooled in her spine, right below her implant. “Am I on probation, Gabe?” She asked, knowing the answer already. 

“Yes,” he said, curtly. “If you fail, Talon will make me handle you. If you don’t, we are both safe. If you somehow get captured-”

“I ain’t getting no help from you to get out,” she said, getting his point. “Huh.”

A thick silence stretched across them, as Sombra’s brain ran with possibilities. This was a mission with a minimal possibility of success, since she’d have no backup, no cover, and possibly no rescue - she’d been set up to fail. If she got caught by Overwatch, Talon wouldn’t spare a single bullet to rescue her, leaving her to her own devices, but also none of their hovering. Her mind clicked, then - Reaper was offering her a way out, if she knew how to play her cards right. 

“I got you this chance, kid,” he said, standing. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Won’t do, _ abuelo _ ,” 

“Don’t call me that”, he sighed, and in a burst of smoke escaped through the open kitchen window, leaving behind only a rush of cold wind that gave her the goosebumps. 

“I have a door, you know,” she mumbled to no one.

  
  


If Sombra’s hatred of airports was akin to the heat of three thousand burning suns, her absolute loathing of planes must be what the universe felt when it ripped apart during the Big Bang. She bought a first class seat for herself and hacked the company’s server just so no one would sit next to her - she could’ve bought it, but she’d been through the trouble of buying one ticket right before and had no wish to go through that again. Sprawled on the large seat, lights out, she looked at the vast expanse of blue water outside of her window. 

She couldn’t sleep. There was Ambien in her bag, but she’d rather not be delirious if something happened to her flight. One could say she was being paranoid, but she’d been involved in the brainstorming of at least two airplane hijacks, and she knew how easy it was for a plane to be hacked. 

Easy for her, anyways. But she figured one didn’t need to be as technologically savvy as she was to break through something so stupid as a firewall. 

She sighed, leaning against the glass. She hated flying. Still, she had gotten into this steel-trap willingly - Barcelona was her ticket out. She just had to make a choice.

Gabriel was far more socially aware than he was given credit for - granted, he  _ was _ a ruthless killer who moved more or less like a ghost, but he wasn’t stupid, and wasn’t a cartoon villain character either. In his stunted, weird way, he liked her. It made perfect sense for him to try to understand what was going on in her head, and it didn’t take long for him to realize two odd truths about Sombra: she hated to be tied down, but she was so very tired of running.

She had spent far too long inside tight-knit organizations to want to be tied to another. Talon was nice, the pay was okay, the resources were great, but there was nothing in her that agreed to their core values, and she honestly thought some people were really out of their minds. Gabriel, she could understand the need for revenge, even though she was happy enough to pretend people hadn’t fucked her over and live obliviously. Moira? Honestly, that woman was as wacko as they came, and Sombra’s life motto could be summarized in work hard, play hard, and stay conscious enough that you can put yourself far, far away from Moira’s wicked little crooked fingers. 

She made a very conscious effort not to think about Widowmaker, because she’d rather be very ignorant about whatever shit went wrong with her. 

On the flip side, Sombra had been running for as long as she could remember. Running from omnics, running from the cops, running from men who wanted to run their hands up her tights, running from failed love affairs, running from Overwatch, running from herself - the most dangerous, however, was running from The Corporation, the conspiracy she never meant to uncover but did so by sheer accident, during a night of heavy drinking and hacking binge. The rules of survival that she used to know by heart simply did not apply anymore. She couldn’t count the things she had lost because of her attempts to escape the seemingly omniscient entity she’d woken up because she’d been so. Goddamn. Curious. 

And now Talon had started to interfere with her quest to get the Corporation out of her hair. They were full of  _ orders _ and  _ demands _ , not satisfied with merely hiring her services when needed - they demanded her full allegiance. She told Gabriel she didn’t want her options to be closed by allying with only one organization, but he knew better. He knew Talon had plans for instigating another full-out war, and wanted as many resources as it could get - Sombra was nearly invaluable for strategy, and they wanted her on their side full time. He also knew Sombra wanted to get rid of the poltergeist stalking her every move and just chill somewhere very far away from any warzone. Do some programming. Maybe adopt a cat, a dog, and a succulent she’d dress up with a tiny  _ sombrero _ and call Jorge. 

(Her cat would be called Seraphine. And the dog Bubbles.) 

(She might have given it more thought than she’d like to admit.)

Anyways, it wasn’t like she didn’t care about people - after all, she was pretty sure the Corporation just fucked with everyone equally, and she wanted  _ that _ gone - but it wasn’t like she had a single heroic bone in her body either. War sucked, but she just wanted to be safe. If war had taught her anything, it was to value safety over righteousness. She’d prefer to chug down a gallon of milk without any lactaid on hand than to have any sort of participation whatsoever in a war, and she’d be more prone to premature death ingesting lactose.

But one doesn’t leave Talon. What Gabriel had done, in reality, was give her a choice many didn’t have. Succeed, and you’ll be welcome back with open arms. Fall into enemy’s hands, and for us you are as good as dead. 

She’d only have to figure out how to survive Overwatch first. 

Sighing, she tried her best to be comfortable. A tiny speck of light floating on the sea indicated a ship sailing the wide soft blue of the Atlantic. 

“Man, it’d be so  _ cool _ to buy a boat,” she thought, yawning, ”I bet I could fucking smoke in a boat.” and willed herself to sleep. 

  
  


The mainframe was on the 16th floor of a corporate building in Barcelona. She had walked in there in the early morning to survey the place, taking full advantage of the Starbucks in the lobby and memorizing the passages and doors while sipping on her coffee. On her way out, she discreetly hacked the bot guarding the entrance, and spent her day walking around the Sagrada Família. The sun was setting when she geared up - she was never nervous on missions like this, but there was an odd feeling of anxiety pooling in her stomach. She still hadn’t made up her mind. 

Slowly, she made her way inside the maze of the building, disarming the alarms on the way. It was literally too easy, she thought, worry trailing down her spine. Her implants buzzed slowly, a tell tale sign of alarm, but there were no obstacles, and she made it to the framework smoothly. 

“Motherf-” she cursed, hissing. Of course Gabriel would do it, she thought. That was one dramatic son of the bitch. 

The mainframe was right in the middle of an empty room. On the wall next to it, an almost comically red button was placed inside a glass box - it said “in case of overheating, break glass and push button”, but she was too smart to believe it was merely that. 

“ _ Pendejo hijo de puta, _ ” she spat. She started drawing the data from the mainframe - mostly plans for buildings and future enterprises, nothing so suspicious - but stared at the button warily. She had a choice to make in the time it took for her codebreaker to suck  all the info from the hardware, which was not much, and she bit her lip in indecision. Stay with Talon and risk never ending this nightmare of being constantly stalked? Or leave and be left to her own devices in her quest against the Corporation? Angela had made it pretty clear that Overwatch wouldn’t believe her. But she didn’t need belief - she needed access. Overwatch had the last missing piece of the puzzle, and it was the best shot she had in years to end this. 

She was just so very tired. 

Sombra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She hoped Gabriel was listening in somewhere, and muttered a  _ “Grácias, abuelito” _ before smashing the glass case and pressing the button. 

She counted. 

“ _ Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez, once, doce, trece, cuatorce- _ ”

The sound of helicopter wings stopped her short. 

“SOMBRA,” said the a voice hovering above the building, a beam of light illuminating the whole room through the floor-to-ceiling windows, “THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. SURRENDER YOURSELF NOW.”

She raised her hands slowly, and just as she was turning to the door, she felt a sharp pain on her thigh - and the world faded to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The book cover described in the beginning of the story is the Brazilian edition of neuromancer, one that I’m absolutely bananas for. Check [this beauty](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/A1xCrHu1yhL.jpg) out.  
> 2\. Los Muertos’ hierarchy is a direct product of Carrogath’s brilliant brain, and she was kind enough to let me use it. Go check her story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10356222/chapters/22881555) \- it was so amazing it fucked up my work schedule because I couldn’t. Stop. Reading. It.  
> 3\. Many many thanks to Buttons15 for the encouragement, brainstorming, overwatch binges and overall friendship. Love you to the moon and back.


	2. evidences

_ Eu me afasto e me defendo de você _

_ Mas depois me entrego _

_ Faço tipo, falo coisas que eu não sou _

_ Mas depois eu nego _

  
  
  


**Lauterbrunnen, December 12th, 2054**

 

The house was as picturesque as houses in the Swiss alps came - snowflakes delicately finding shelter amongst the wedges of the wooden roof, thick windows illuminated by a soft yellow flickering light, courtesy of the fireplace her aunt had left on. They had electrical heating, but Aunt Yvonne said there was something familiar and comforting in the warmth of a fireplace. She reserved it for special occasions, like christmas, the first day of winter - and  _ that _ day. 

Right in the middle of their backyard, there was a Weeping Willow. Angela though this could be the beginning of a beautiful story, in the hands of someone more artistically inclined than she was - she herself had tried her hand at writing it, but the story always went more or less like this: In my backyard there’s a Weeping Willow. It guards the graves of my parents, whom I lost in the war. 

That was the harsh truth, and anything else was merely escapism.

She stood under the dried, leafless branches of the tree, roses in hand. Switzerland celebrated Remembrance day on the first day of spring, but this was her remembrance - the day she had received a phone call saying that the Government of Switzerland was very sorry to inform that both her parents had perished in a hospital bombing on December 12th, 2046. Each passing year made them harder to remember - faces blurred and voices warped, her parents were a memory that steadily became more clouded. She placed the roses on the snow-covered graves. 

“Mind if I pray, darling?” Yvonne asked.

“Course not, Auntie,” she replied. Yvonne cleared her throat. 

_ “Üse Vater im Himmel, _ ” she chanted, softly, “ _ Din Name wird gheiliget- _ ”

There was irony in her Catholic aunt praying for her Jewish parents, but Angela barely remembered anything about the religion they had professed. When they sent her off from Zurich, away from the exploding buildings and school raids, they were barely observant themselves, and she had lived in this small, secluded village for what it seemed like her whole life. When she left, she was far too young to remember God. At fifteen and having seen what she’d saw, she was far too old to believe in Him. 

“Amen,” her aunt said, at last. 

“Amen,” she followed suit, absently, and felt a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“Wherever they are, I am sure they are very proud of you,  _ schatzi _ ,” Yvonne said, softly. 

“ _ Danke, _ ” she said, not very sure of what she was thanking for. Her parents were dead and unless she could bring them back, there was no apparent mystery on where they could be - there they were, 6 feet under a weeping willow, in the backyard of her great aunt’s house in a small Swiss village, and last she checked, bones were unable to feel pride. 

“ _ Komm, _ ” Yvonne said, “I bought new books for the library. Found that one you were looking for, Necromancer-”

“Neuromancer,” Angela corrected, letting herself be gently pulled away from the graves. It wasn’t like her parent’s corpses would go anywhere. Objectively, the cultural attachment to bones of the deceased and their final placing made no sense, but she knew better than to argue. Aunt Yvonne had seventy-six years of age, and judging by the blood-stained tissues hidden after any cough, she too was dying, and she also knew better than to question the comforting ignorance of those about to depart. “A necromancer is a magician who raises the dead.”

“Best not to toy with death,” Yvonne agreed, “We should never try to cheat God’s will, don’t you think?”

Angela did not, but nodded anyways.

  
  
  


**Gibraltar, November 20th, 2076**

 

It was 4:42 when her phone beeped. She knew that because she wasn’t asleep - wide awake in the dark, hands lightly running through the thick black hair of the woman next to her in bed, Angela found sleep a slippery thing, escaping through her grasp like slime. She was looking at the watch when it spurred up. 

“Don’ pick up,” the woman next to her mumbled, pulling her closer into an embrace. Fareeha slept like the dead, and zombied her way into every single morning. “Early. Don’ go.”

“Just checking,” She said, picking up the phone from the nightstand. There were two new messages from Lena: NEED U IN MEDICAL, said the first, and BIG ARREST, said the other. 

WOUNDED? She typed back, quickly. 

NO BUT NEED U ASAP, she replied. 

“What on earth,” Angela said, confused. 

“No work, Angie, do that tomor’ow,” Fareeha said. Angela obliged - she put the phone on the table once more and closed her eyes, determined to will herself to sleep. 

Her phone rang. 

“Guess that’s serious.” she said, “Hello?”

“Angie, love, we really need you here,” Lena’s worried voice came through the phone. “Did I wake you? Course I did, totally forgot about the time-”

“You didn’t,” Angela said. Fareeha groaned, shoving her head on the pillow. “What’s the situation? Was the target hurt?” 

“She’s asleep,” Lena said. “Ana’s darts-”

“She?” her heart sank. “Lena, Did you capture Amélie?”

“Oh no,” the pilot answered, hurriedly. “But you know what, after this we just might. No, we got Sombra.”

Angela bolted out of the bed straight to her dresser, pulling clothes out of the drawers like a madwoman. “Keep her in isolation. Complete network isolation, you hear me? If possible somewhere not even Athena can reach-”

Fareeha sat on the bed slowly, rubbing her eyes. “What the fuck, Angie?” 

“They got Sombra,” she said, hurriedly. “She’s under sedation here at Watchpoint.”

All sleep seemed to drain out of the Egyptian’s eyes - nodding, she too jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed, picking up her gun from where it leaned against the headboard. “I’ll go keep watch with the cavalry. At least eat something before heading there, okay babe?”

“Sure,” Angela said, mind reeling. Fareeha  gave  her a quick peck on the cheek and  ran out of the door, and Angela placed both hands on the top of the drawer, drawing in a shaky breath. 

Of all the people they could’ve possibly have found. Of all the places that they could possibly meet. 

  
  
  


Sombra was being kept in a storage room. 

Granted, it was a storage room big enough that they’d managed to empty  and place a bed in, and arrangements were being made to one of their actual holding cells to get rid of anything that could possibly be hacked. Still, there was something unnerving about keeping her in the storage - it didn’t have windows, and if her memory served her well, Sombra was very claustrophobic. Fareeha was guarding the door in full gear, arms crossed over her chest, and gave her a tired wink when she got closer. 

“She just woke up,” She said. “Whatever mom has in those darts of hers, it’s pretty damn strong. Lena tried talking to her earlier, but she just said some nonsense and asked to go back to sleep. We’ve been keeping her awake.” 

“Could’ve let her sleep,” she mumbled. It would make her life far easier, mostly because she wouldn’t have to be face to face with the girl she had left three years before, but still haunted her dreams. It was the eyes, she supposed, they had that strange magnetism, drawing her into the immensity and complexity of her being. Sombra saw past all her barriers. 

She did not like that. 

Angela took a deep breath, nodded. Fareeha opened the lock fastening the door shut, and gently pushed it open. 

“Not locking it,” she said, softly. 

“Thank you,  _ Schatzi _ ,” she replied, and carefully stepped into the room, hands shoved deep into her coat’s pockets. 

Sombra was sitting on the bed, looking lost. 

She had changed plenty since they’d last seen each other outside of a battle - mainly, the copper-colored skin had been taken by a lot of tattoos. She seemed thinner, cheekbones and collarbones more pronounced, and the purple of her hair had faded to an icy-lilac that almost merged with the loose shirt she had been given. Without her combat gear, Sombra looked like any other 20-something in Zurich - covered in tattoos, ears stretched, edgy technological accessories. 

Her breasts were still fantastical, however. 

Shaking her head, Angela willed those thoughts out of her mind. This wasn’t the time or place to focus on Sombra’s body, no matter how much of a masterpiece she might think  it was. She had a girlfriend and Sombra was her patient, and just because she knew how she had looked when she-

“Took you long enough,” Sombra said, hoarsely. “Thought you’d be the first one to be here.”

“Not a good enough reason to break protocol,” Angela said, schooling her voice into a detached, cool tone. Her heart was doing backflips inside her chest, fingers itching to trace the soft curves of her legs, to feel them shiver. 

This was a terrible idea. This was a terrible, terrible idea.

“Wow, that must be a new record,” Sombra laughed, devoid of all humor. She was still staring at her fingernails intently - the painted, pointed nails were part of the gloves, she was a terrible nail biter - “Took you one sentence to be a total bitch. Usually you try to play nice at least for greetings.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, annoyed. Unless Sombra was dying, there’d be no reason to stop the team from doing their jobs merely to chaperone the transition of her limp body from the ship to the room where she sat now. “I am here to-”

“Play medic, yes, I know,” Sombra rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I haven’t had a check up in ages.”

“That’s not responsible.”

“Oh, _ you _ wanna talk responsibility now?” Sombra  spat. “Of all people?”

“Not now, Sombra,” Angela sighed. “Let me just check your vitals, please? I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.”

Sombra levelled her with a look, but said nothing. They were silent as Angela took her blood pressure and looked inside her throat. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed, please,” the doctor instructed, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck and placing it on her ears. “Breathe normally.”

Sombra did so. 

“I thought you’d quit smoking.”

“I did,” Sombra said, defiantly. 

“Sure. Breathe again, then.” She placed the bell of her stethoscope right above her collarbone, moving downwards with every breath she took. “See,” she said, as she finished the exam and took the earplugs off, “I know you’re lying, because I can hear how damaged your lungs are.”

“Well, you asked me if I’d stopped smoking, which I did, but you never asked me if I’d started again after quitting, which I also did. Maybe you just have to think your questions through.”

Angela groaned. 

“Really?”

“Ziegler, listen,” Sombra sighed. “I’m locked in a fucking storage room, half dead, and I still have to deal with  _ you _ . Could you just, _ not _ ? Do you even have to be here?” 

“I do,” Angela lied. Truth was, anyone else could have given the hacker some basic support, but she wanted to see her, touch her, know she was real and that she was fine. “I want to ask you a few questions about your implants.”

“Ask away,” Sombra replied. Angela raised an eyebrow. 

“Will you answer them?”

“No,” she said, and smirked. 

There it was. 

It was her smile, Angela thought, knees trembling. It was Sombra’s smile that did it for her the first time they saw each other, and her smirk had not changed an inch. It was full of malice, melting the thick lips into a lazy upwards curve , and all she wanted was to-

Focus. Focus, Angela. 

“I need to know if it’s affected by electromagnetism,” She said, and cleared her throat. “We are trying to find a room that can-”

“Hold me, yeah yeah, I know,” Sombra rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not majorly affected. I can probably find a way to hack electromagnetic devices, anyways, but the headache is always a bitch, so I’d rather not.”

“Why are you being so cooperative? This is so unlike-” Angela looked at her warily, but then something in her mind clicked. Of  _ course _ . ”You want to be here.” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Sombra smirked again. “But good luck finding a place that can hold me while you try to figure that out. Are we done?”

“I believe we are,” Angela said, straightening her coat. She exited the room without saying goodbye, but as she walked through the door and saw Fareeha standing  guard, she gave her girlfriend a soft kiss on her lips. 

“See you for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fareeha said, stunned. “But what’s with the PDA? You were never-”

“Just letting you know how amazing you are,” Angela said, sweetly. Fareeha smiled, returning the kiss, and closed the door as they broke apart. 

Angela found it within herself to feel guilty for lying to Fareeha as she made her way towards her office. Truth was, she had only done it because she knew Sombra would see. 

She never claimed to be a good person anyways. 

  
  
  


She had been staring at the ceiling for so long, she could already tell how many steel panels covered it - more or less sixty four, each tile roughly 10 square feet. She had hoped counting something so mundane as the questionable architecture choices Watchpoint’s designers made would be enough, but she’d done that at least five times and sleep was still a distant memory. 

Angela sighed, running her fingers over Fareeha’s scalp. The soldier was dead to the world, asleep on her shoulder. the adrenaline of the day’s events had finally caught up with her, and aside from her soft sleeping sighs, the room was completely quiet. Which was good, Angela figured. Her mind was noisy enough, a total wreckage. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sombra sleeping alone in a storage room. 

She slept on her side, that much she remembered. She also hugged a pillow and slept with two under her head so her nose wouldn’t clog at night, and slept so still she frequently woke with her arm completely numb. If it wasn’t for hear breathing, Angela would’ve thought she was dead or a statue. Thinking on how she knew about Sombra’s sleeping habits reminded her of how she knew the hacker in the first place. She bit her lip, lost in remembrance. 

It had been a very hot day in Tuxtepec when they met. The war had left pockets of Mexico in a perpetual state of decay, and a typhus outbreak had taken over the city - Angela had worked nonstop with the displaced and had had one too many children die in her arms. She was exhausted, to say the least, so she did what any exhausted, lonely person would do: she went to a bar. 

Sombra had been in the same hole-in-the-wall place she’d picked - hardly a coincidence, even though she had no idea at the time. She flirted and paid for her  drink, and it’d been a good year or two since she’d had a good lay. Sombra was hot, was willing, and was in the right place at the right time, and Angela pondered she had nothing to lose. They talked until the barman gently ushered them out - she was buzzed and the full moon outside the bar made Sombra look almost ethereal, like she’d disappear if Angela dared to touch her. A holographic mirage. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I asked you to come back to my hotel room, would you?” She’d asked, and Sombra had given her one of those blinding smirks that made the muscles beneath her navel clench involuntarily. 

“Funny you should ask,” she’d said, carefully tucking one loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, “I was just about to ask you the same.”

Angela’s hotel was closer and even then she wasn’t sure she would make it to her room without ripping Sombra’s clothes off. 

She did not disappear when touched. In fact, she became more real - cursing in spanish softly in her ear as she came on her fingers, and then on her mouth, over and over again, each passing second made her less ethereal and more and more tangible, and incredibly more addictive. 

In her defense, Angela had always had a problem with substance abuse. That she’d become addicted to this mexican hurricane was only the consequence. 

They’d meet randomly all over the world - Nairobi, once, Oasis, Tokyo, at least three times in Berlin, and every so often Sombra would knock on her apartment in Zurich and they’d lock themselves in for the weekend. Angela had also invited herself to the hacker’s apartment in Mexico City a couple times. 

It was one of these times, she remembered, as clearly as a movie scene - they were having breakfast, Sombra curled up in her lap like an overgrown cat, and Angela had mentioned something along the lines of settling down in Zurich, maybe opening her own practice. Lord knew she had the money to quiet down. The hacker raised one eyebrow, purple eyes shimmering under the morning light, and smirked. 

“You won’t settle down,” she said. 

“Oh?”

“You do what you do to run away from yourself,” she answered, simply. “If you quiet down, you’ll have to face whatever it is that made you start running in the first place.”   
“Who’s to say I’m not ready to do that?”

“Well, no one,” Sombra said. “But are you?”

She wasn’t. 

She remembered that day clearly because as she was on the plane back to Zurich, she came to two conclusions: one, that Sombra could read her far better than what she was comfortable with, and two, that she was falling for the girl. And that would not work out. 

Sombra was the type of person who saw relationships as compromise that demands effort - she built her relationships from the ground up, and Angela simply couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Sombra would have given her the world if she asked, and she wasn’t ready to be the on the receiving end of so much love, mostly because she couldn’t be on the giving end either - her love had become trapped in the tangled web of her past. 

Angela had been dealing with alcohol abuse for a long time, and she knew better than anyone that she had to go into withdrawal, for the sake of the both of them. 

She sent a message to Sombra as soon as she landed in Zurich, and although that cell phone was  long gone, the text never left her mind: “Sorry. Can’t do this. Don’t know how to deal with meaningless relationships anymore. Best, Angela.” 

She thought it had been succinct and to the point - Sombra did not answer, and Angela lived the next two years with Sombra, true to her name, being a constant shadow in her thoughts. They carefully avoided each other in the battlefield, but she would still go over every interaction a thousand times, wondering how the girl was and how she was doing-

And now she was here. 

Angela had the sudden understanding that the addiction was still going strong in her veins. There was no escaping - she had tried to purge the moments they’d lived together from her memory, but they were seared into her mind. There was no escaping the power the hacker had over her body, and it was a completely irrational need that took control of her careful instincts. 

She sighed, burying her nose in Fareeha’s hair. Fareeha was great - great sex, no extra demands, no rollercoaster ride kind of relationship. She did love the soldier, but it was a far cry from how one look at Sombra made her knees beg to be relieved from the duty of standing. It was her goddamn eyes. Lúcio had told her once about an expression-

“Fareeha,” she whispered.

“Wha’” the soldier answered, still sleeping.

“Do you remember the name of that book Lúcio is crazy about?”

“Sleep,” Fareeha groaned. 

“I won’t unless I remember,” Angela insisted. 

“J’sus,” she said, prying one eye open. “Uh.  _ Dom Casmurro _ ?”

“I’m pretty sure you butchered that pronunciation.”

“‘M pretty sur’ y’ sh’ld sleep,” Fareeha said, nuzzling her neck and instantly being drawn back to her dreams, leaving Angela alone with her thoughts and the ceiling tiles she’d been counting nonstop. 

“Will do,” she said. She made a mental note to look that book up later. 

  
  
  


“Reinhardt,” Angela said, slightly out of breath. He had called her saying it was urgent, and she had barely put her coat on before she stormed out of the office. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing too dire,” Said Reinhardt, leaning on the doorframe, “But your pet project of the week might be going on a hunger strike.”

“Huh?” Angela said, raising her eyebrows. 

“Your prisoner,” he said. “Mexican hacker girl? She won’t eat. I gave her the food and everything but she says she won’t eat it.”

“Are you-” She sighed. “Okay. Let me talk to her.” 

Reinhardt opened the door with a nod - when she stepped into the makeshift room, Sombra was laying on her side on the bed, reading a book - the title, she realized dreadfully, was  _ Dom Casmurro _ . 

She’d kill Lúcio when she had the chance. Sombra raised her eyes from the pages to look at her, and then resumed her reading as if Angela wasn’t even in the room. It stung, but she’d rather the floor swallowed her whole than admitting it out loud. 

“I take the food is not to your liking?” 

“If you think I have a death wish, then yeah,” she said, absently. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Angela said, looking at the harmless plate of mac and cheese. It wasn’t her favorite food, but it didn’t look so hideous. “You have been eating our food for the past two days. Why would we poison you now? Are you going on a hunger strike?”

“Calm down, I’m not Ghandi,” Sombra rolled her eyes. “I am very lactose intolerant. Unless you want me to shit on you and everything you love, which, weird kink, but I’ve seen worse.”

Oh. 

That did make sense, Angela thought to herself, picking the plate up. “I’ll see if there’s anything dairy-free for you-”

“You know, potato chips are dairy free-”

“Something that will not dig you an early grave,” she completed, curtly.

“There’s no fun- You know what, whatever. You just do you,” she said, laying back on the bed. “Wait, I take that back. Don’t do you if that means you’ll try to cook.”

“I am not that bad,” Angela said, indignantly. 

“You are not that bad?” Sombra asked, “Remember that time in Amsterdam you literally poured the tomato sauce on the pasta you had not yet drained?”

“I didn’t know you had to drain it even if you wanted sauce,” Angela said, defensively. 

“ _ Jesús, María y José _ ,” Sombra said. “And I ate all of that shit.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Wouldn’t let food go to waste,” she shrugged. “Besides, you did try. It’d be rude to-” She stopped short, nostrils flaring, and squeezed the edges of the mattress tightly, as if to stop herself from saying anything else. 

Angela was suddenly acutely aware Sombra was only in a black tank top and leggings, and apparently had decided to forego any kind of bra - and she was holding a lukewarm plate of mac and cheese. She cleared her throat. 

“Like I was saying,” she said, “I’ll see if I can find something that you can-”

“Do you even remember?” Sombra asked, quietly. 

“What?”

“Do you even think about me? At all?” She said, raising her head to face her. Her purple eyes bore into her, scrutinizing her every cell. She tried to focus on any other part of her body - the stretchers in her ears, the tattoo underneath her collarbone spelling  _ de otro modo me duelen las ventanas _ in cursive handwriting, the lights on the headpiece of her implant, but her eyes dragged her back, demanding, insisting. Only every single day, she wanted to answer, but the words became lead in her throat, lumpy - she swallowed again, her voice a hard thing to find. 

“I- Uh.” She said, stunned. “I try not to dwell on the mistakes I made.”

The reaction was nearly instantaneous - Sombra’s eyes watered and she recoiled as if Angela had punched her sternum. 

“On the mistakes you made- Jesus.  _ Jesús _ ,” She wheezed, hand flying over to her chest and gripping the front of her shirt tightly. “How come you are so  _ cruel _ , Ziegler?” 

“Are you crying?,” Angela asked, hurriedly. She did not know how to handle crying people. It was way above her paycheck - not that she really got one anyways - and her patients were more prone to incoherent screaming and violently extruding bodily fluids. Vomit? Walk in the park. Tears? Not so much.

Sombra’s tears were a damn near nuclear attack on her limited emotion processing abilities.

“I can’t control it,” Sombra hissed, “It’s the damn implant- my emotions get all over the place-”

“Oh,” Angela said. “Well, that explains plenty.”

Sombra’s lower lip was trembling, but her eyes were full of rage - she was seething. 

“Would it kill you to shut your damn mouth for like five whole minutes or will your ego burst up your head if you quit talking?” She spat. ” _ Diós mio, Gabriel me dijo que eras cruel pero _ \- I mean, he’s the goddamn  _ Reaper _ and he’s not as bad as you-”

Angela felt like her world suddenly came to a halt. She opened her eyes wide, staring at the hacker in disbelief. 

“ _ Who _ ?”

“Gabriel Reyes?” Sombra sniffed. “Reaper? I thought you’d know him-”

“Are you telling me,” Angela asked, slowly, “That Gabriel Reyes is alive?”

“Are you  _ shitting _ me?” She replied, warily. “Gabriel Reyes  _ is _ the Reaper. Are you playing dumb so I can- Oh my God,” she said, watching Angela’s face slowly become even more pale than what it already was and quickly realizing she had said something she probably shouldn’t have talked about - at least not so casually, “You didn’t know. Jesus, we thought you all knew- I mean, Gabriel told me Ana Amari knew-”

Angela felt the blood rush to her ears, buzzing loudly with the sound of betrayal and deceit. Her hands, usually so steady and firm, shook like a concrete building in an earthquake, and the plate fell from her hands and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. 

Gabriel Reyes was alive.    
Ana Amari had some explaining to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brazilians who got the reference, Buttons15 made me do it. 
> 
> Thank you all lovely souls for the feedback! <3


	3. agnes

_ You’re gone but you’re on my mind _

_ I’m lost but I don’t know why _

  
  
  


**Zurich, July 17th, 2052**

 

She prodded the empty space in her gums with her tongue, instinctively searching for a tooth that had left its previous spot in her mouth just the night before. Her mother told her not to, but Fareeha barely paid her any mind as she burst out of her mother’s room to find Gabriel. Tooth safely hidden in her hand, she made her way between soldiers, doctors, volunteers and recruits until she found his office - she leaned her head closer to the lock and, not hearing anything that sounded too important, knocked in their secret pattern. 

“Coming,” said a voice inside. Jittery, Fareeha bounced on her feet until the door opened.   
“Uncle Gabe!” She said, excitedly, and smiled wide, pointing her finger to the open space where once was a front tooth, “Look!”. 

Gabriel smiled, warmly. He had a way of lightening up when seeing her, as if her happiness made him happy too - she’d never tell her mother, but she wished Gabriel was her father instead of Sam. At least spending the holidays with her father wouldn’t be such a drag. 

“Hello to you too, little muffin,” he said, ushering her in. The screen around his room showed scenes of war in a desert - one read OMNIUM DESTRUCTION in bright red letters. With a wave from Gabriel’s hand, the images were replaced by the Overwatch logo. “What brings you here on this fine evening?”

“Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “There’s something missing?”

“Oh right!” He said, slapping his forehead. “Sorry, yes. Your new haircut looks very nice-”

“Uncle Gabe!” 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “That’s a nice gap you have there. Did your mom pull that out for you?”

“I pulled it out myself!” Fareeha squealed. “It was wobbly and I was looking in the mirror to see how far I could push it with my tongue, and then it just popped out! Here, look,” she said, opening her hand to show a small tooth. 

“That was very brave of you,” Gabriel said, sitting down in his chair. Fareeha was a tall kid, and he had to tip his head slightly upwards to see her face when sitting.  _ What is this girl eating?  _ He thought, absently.  _ Kid grows like a damn bamboo _ -

“I was gonna put it under my pillow for the tooth fairy,” she said, “But mother said you had a bad week, so I’m giving it to you so you get a wish too.”

Gabriel gave her  a conflicted look, something like sadness, humour and a deep ache that she would only understand when she, too, was old enough to understand how little innocence was left in the world. He smiled softly, taking the tooth from her hand. 

“Thank you, Fareeha,” he said. “I’ll make sure to ask the tooth fairy for a good night of sleep. What?” he said when she made a face. 

“That’s a lame wish,” she said, and he laughed loudly. 

“Wait until you’re my age, then you’ll pray to every god living or dead for decent rest,” he winked. “You know what’s not lame, though? Your mom giving you permission to use the shooting range,” he said, leaning away from the girl when she let out a scream of excitement. 

“Really? Really really really?” She squealed, jumping in excitement. “Thank you, thank you! How did you do it, Uncle Gabe?”

“Magic,” he said, smiling. “But only with a grown up and only with the guns we give you. If I see that you’re being reckless or careless, your shooting range privileges are revoked until you are old enough to drive. Do you promise me you’ll be careful?”

“I do, I do,” she said, beaming. “Can we go now, Uncle Gabe? Pretty pretty please?”

He stood up, straightening his clothes. He always smelled like coffee, gunpowder and permanent markers, fingers always stained blue from writing. Years from then, Fareeha would always remember his kind smile in the aftermath of a fight - the smell of gunpowder and coffee engraved in her own skin as she took up his place, his guns and his guilt over the people she could not save. But in that rainy summer afternoon, it was just good old Uncle Gabe. 

“If you are training with me, then you are my recruit. So when I ask you something, you have to reply with ‘yes sir’. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” 

“Will you pay attention to what I’m telling you?”

“Yes sir!”

“Will you stay away from weapons when there’s no one to help you?”

“Yes sir!”

“Do you still need a teddy bear with you to help you sleep?”

“Yes sir- Uncle Gabe!” She said, indignantly, and he burst out laughing at her small, balled fists. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “Now, give me a salute.”

She put her hand to her temples - Gabriel tsked. 

“Give me your hand,” he said, taking her hand in his. There was something to be said about how pure her small fingers looked in comparison to his, but he decided that this was not the moment to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. The lives he had taken would not be returned anytime soon. “All your fingers are a team. What do teams do?”

“Stay together,” she recited. 

“Good,” he said. “Is your thumb a finger?”

“Duh,” she laughed. 

“So see,” he pointed to her opposing finger, “Your thumb might face outwards, but it’s still a finger, and so it is a part of the team-” he said, pressing all of her fingers close together. “-and teams stick together. No finger left out, you see? Go, try again.”

She quickly put her hand against her temple, and Gabriel smiled. 

“At ease, soldier. Let’s go?”

“Sir, yes sir!” she said, sprinting in front of him as he shook his head fondly. Ana didn’t know how lucky she was to have Fareeha as family. 

  
  


**Gibraltar, November 22th, 2076**

 

“Those are some impressive air guitar skills,” Sombra said, absently. 

Fareeha plucked her earphone out of her left ear, a faint tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. Sombra was such a silent charge she forgot she was even there. The Hacker didn’t do much - the sole reason why she was being kept in a storage room, of all places, was because it was the only place in the entire base that didn’t have an electronic door lock - the complete absence of any sort of technology leaving her with little else to do aside from reading the pile of books Lúcio had left there when it was his shift. Lucky for her, she did seem to enjoy them, and spent most of her days curled up in bed reading absently. Every once in a while she would type something in thin air, but Angela told them not to worry, so not worry she did. 

It was a good break from the madness of the Overwatch base, if anything. Sombra’s only request was to keep the door open, and Fareeha didn’t see any reason not to - besides, there was a turret right outside the room that Athena would activate the moment Sombra even thought of escaping. So Fareeha sat on a wooden chair outside the room, legs propped up on the doorframe, and did whatever it was that would make a four hour guarding shift pass quickly. That day in specific, was listening to music.

“Uh,” she mumbled. “Yeah.”

“Do you play?”

“Used to,” she said. Gabriel had tried to teach her when she was younger, and she went as far as learning Wish You Were Here and Heart Shaped Box on the guitar before she discovered that Music wasn’t really the career option she was interested in. Her mother did try, poor soul. She even bought her a nice, expensive acoustic guitar and everything to keep her away from the military life. 

As if. 

She could still play I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing, however, because she found out that it was a great flirting asset. Girls dig guitar players, that was her point. 

“Pity,” Sombra shrugged, “It’s kinda sexy.”

As she was saying. 

“I mean, I was taught a maximum of four songs before I decided that it just wasn’t for me. Stuck to the guns instead.”

“Yeah, well, you went full sexy,” Sombra said, smirking. There wasn’t an edge to her flirting, however, which led Fareeha to think this was her attempt at being friendly. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Do you play?”

“Oh no,” Sombra shook her head. “No, not me. Besides, I’m into house, dubstep, trap, y’know-

“That kind of shit that you only need a computer to create,” Fareeha added, and Sombra smirked. 

“Precisely.”

“Awesome,” Fareeha said, wryly. “I’m into-”

“Rock,” Sombra completed. “70’s progressive rock.”

Fareeha backtracked, stunned. 

“How did you know?” she asked. 

“I know everything,” Sombra hushed, then burst out laughing upon seeing Fareeha’s frightened expression. “Nah, I’m shitting with you. You were playing the chords to Wish You Were Here on your mighty air guitar, so I made an educated guess.”

“Oh,” Fareeha said. It did make sense. “But how do you know the chords to a Pink Floyd song?”

“I'm not an illiterate fuck,” Sombra rolled her eyes.  Then she bit her lip, lost in thought, as if deciding if she should add something to the conversation. 

“What?”

“Uh. Nothing. It's just-”

“Well, spill it.”

“Pink Floyd is Reaper’s favorite band,” Sombra shrugged. Fareeha choked on her breath.. 

“Are you telling me,” she wheezed, sitting straight on the chair, “That the Reaper, actual terrorist, actual homicidal maniac, every once in a while sits down in a Talon meeting room jamming to the Dark Side of the Moon?”

“That’s… It sounds a lot weirder when you put it this way.” Sombra said, reluctantly.

A giggle bubbled up Fareeha’s throat and erupted as a full throated laughing fit - she folded over her stomach, holding her sides. 

“This is- This is absolutely  _ hilarious _ ,” Fareeha wheezed. “Like- The  _ scene _ is just- Reaper is a goddamn  _ murderer _ and he just sits by himself on like, an abandoned warehouse listening to Wish You Were Here just-  _ jamming _ , man- feeling the song, you know-?” She said, and burst out laughing once more - Sombra raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh  _ sheesh _ ,” Fareeha said, wiping the moisture that pooled in the corners of her eyes. “Jesus. That was a really good mental image. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sombra said, humorlessly. 

“But now, who is really-”

“Fareeha!” Said a voice in the distance - they both looked over to see Lena running towards them like a madwoman. “Fareeha, please, we need you in the Command room. Really really-.”

“Really really,” Fareeha groaned. “Look, I’m on Sombra duty-”

“Love,” Tracer said, out of breath. “I’ll stay with Sombra. You need to go before Angela murders your mum.”

Holy crap. 

  
  
  


One thing Fareeha knew about Angela was that she had a massive problem dealing with her feelings. 

Most times she would turn inwards, shutting out everyone from the mess inside her shell. She knew that, well - it took her time to understand the problem wasn’t with her, but with her girlfriend’s total inability to process feelings and emotions in a healthy manner, something Fareeha was quite experienced with. Years of therapy after her parental figures were all blown up in Zurich did give her some leverage. One could say Fareeha was far less stubborn than Angela - this, after all, was the woman who brought people back to life because she refused to let death win. 

The abridged version was: Fareeha had no problems in asking for help when needed. Angela simply did not think that was even an option. Bottling shit up was her modus operandi, and sometimes she would cave to the pressure and explode in all directions, burning everything she could set her sights on. 

This is why Fareeha found her, eyes bloodshot and wide, seething in absolute anger and almost punching an understandably scared Winston away from the door to Ana’s office. 

“Angela,” he groaned, “Please calm down-”

“Calm down?!” She shrieked, “Calm down?! We mourned them all, Winston! We fought for them, we lived for them, we cried for them, they ruined our lives and yet they can’t stop lying!”

“She must’ve had a very good reason to-”

“To what? To hide from us? Leave her daughter behind? Leave us all behind? We will never rebuild this organization because of her goddamn _ lies _ -”

“Angela!” Fareeha said, sprinting close to the commotion. “Babe-”

“Your mother, Fareeha!” Angela roared, “The deceiving, lying bit-”

“Hey!” She protested, “That’s my mother you’re talking about-”

“He’s alive, Fareeha!” Angela said, “He is alive and she never told us, and we have been- We could’ve-”

“Who’s alive?!” She asked, panicked. “Angela, you’re making absolutely no sense-”

“Gabriel is alive, Fareeha,” Angela said, panting, “Though nowadays he’s called Reaper.”

Her world shattered. 

Her ears filled with static, Fareeha took a step back. And another. 

She could feel her heart thumping in her bones - thump-thump. 

“Winston,” she whispered. 

Thump-Thump. 

Her fingers traveled down to the holster on her leg. 

“Fareeha-” he said, raising his hands. 

“Winston.” 

Thump-thump. 

“Get the fuck away from the door.”

Thump-thump. 

He barely had time to duck before Fareeha shot the door off of its hinges.

“Structural damage to door number 305K detected,” Athena said, absently. 

  
  


Fareeha loved Ana deeply, like only a child raised by a single mother could love. She was her safe point, her shield, her role model, her absolute hero, her biggest source of comfort, and Fareeha would give everything to be like her mother. 

Eventually, she did. Ana died without speaking to her because she had joined the army. 

For years their last conversation haunted her every dream. Ana’s disappointment hurt far more than any bullet, any stab, or even being brought back to life by Angela - something that had happened at least twice and she dreaded ever having to relive it. “I fought my entire life to keep you safe,” she’d said, “and now you’re throwing it all away.” 

She had tried to explain - the need for honor, the need to prove herself, the feeling of duty to her people running through her veins. Fareeha thought if she managed to rise through the ranks of the military like Ana had, maybe she’d see that this was her calling in life, the sole reason why her soul was delivered to the world. She snatched promotions with an ease comparable only to Ana herself - and every night, when she laid her head on her military-issued pillow, she’d promise herself she’d call by the next promotion, and when that came, she’d promise herself she’d call by the next, and the next, and the next- 

When Zurich blew up in smithereens, she hadn’t called once. 

She carried the weight of her cowardice throughout her life. She went to therapy. She went on and off antidepressants. She took a leave of absence from the army. She went back, got wounded in a mission, got an honorable discharge. Started working for a security company. Received a call from Angela Ziegler herself to rebuild Overwatch, got a new, shiny suit to compensate for her injured knee and throughout all that time, she still carried her guilt and her regret - that for all she got from her mother, her courage wasn’t in the bundle. 

That is, until Ana showed up once more. 

In her mind, there were two Anas - the one she loved and respected while growing up, and the woman who showed up at Gibraltar ten years after being declared dead. This woman had traces of her mother in her, but was far different - prone to scheming, hiding valuable information, manhandling people around, and a gallows humour she clearly did not remember her mother possessing. Sometimes she thought her mother had really died at Gibraltar, but shook those thoughts away as soon as they came - she had a second chance at making it right, and she wouldn’t lose it for the world, even if it meant ignoring her instincts. 

Her instincts screamed that Ana was lying. 

She ignored them.

When did people stop believing the best of the people they loved, anyways?

  
  
  
  


“Why did you  _ lie _ ?”

Sombra raised her eyes from the book and arched an eyebrow. 

“Excuse me?”

“ _ Cut the bullshit _ , Sombra,” Fareeha said, seething. She balled her fists tightly. “Why did you lie to Angela about Gabriel Reyes being the Reaper?”

To her credit, Sombra’s fake confusion was very convincing - she leaned her neck back, furrowing her brows, and closed the book on her lap, standing up from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on the floor. 

“ _ ¿Qué? _ ” Sombra asked - Fareeha was overcome was a sudden wave of blinding rage, vision tunneling, and before she could control herself, her right fist connected to Sombra’s jaw, sending her flying across the room. 

“Don’t play the fucking saint, Sombra!” She shrieked, “You knew what Gabriel meant to us- Meant to Angela- and you made this-”

“I didn’t make up anything!” Sombra said, using the wall to stand up. “What are you even _ talking _ about?”

“We talked to my mother to confirm if Gabriel was really the Reaper, and guess what? She said she buried him herself,” she spat, “That there was barely anything left of him to bury so they buried him in a  _ box _ . How could you? Does Talon make all agents become psychopathic assholes or were you born as this special brand of sociopath?”

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know,” Sombra replied, heaving. She blinked heavily, eyes lost, and her head dropped forward as her body stood still - with a deep breath and what seemed to be a herculean effort, she raised her head, licking her lips and taking a hand to where purple, black and red blossomed on her cheeks. “Did she give you any evidence?” 

“Do you think I’m gonna believe a terrorist over my own mother?”

“I might be a terrorist, but I’d never let my own daughter believe I was dead for ten years,” Sombra spit. 

“Don’t you dare-”

“Shut the fuck up for a second,” Sombra said, reaching inside her shirt for a thin silver necklace - she ripped it off of her neck and threw it in Fareeha’s direction. The soldier picked it up easily - the pendant was a small barn owl engraved on a silver square. 

“Leon L’African Street, 205, Casablanca,” she said, heaving. Her eyes became lost once more, expression dropping, and with a gulp of air and a blink, she returned to normal. “Fifth floor. There’s no elevator. The key is under the palm tree next to the front door. Give him this and tell him I sent you. Good reunion for you two.”

“What-”

“Get the fuck out, Amari,” Sombra said, “I have nothing else to tell you.”

Fareeha stomped out of the cell and, childishly, instructed Tracer to shut the door close and lock it. 

On her way to her quarters, the pendant was heavy on her hands - as if she was the werewolf of the stories Gabriel was so fond of telling her, weakened by silver. She stopped short in the middle of the hallway that would take her to her room - the bifurcation to the left would lead her to the hangars. Her instincts were still screaming bloody murder inside her head, the address Sombra gave her was as clear as day - she could repeat it backwards if necessary. 

She didn’t want to believe her mother had lied to her. 

She wanted to know the truth. 

“Al’ama, ya Ibn el Sharmouta,” she cursed, loudly, scaring two recruits who were walking on the opposite side of the hallway - she paid them no mind as she sprinted left. 

“Base, this is Pharah,” she spoke into her comm, “I need a jet. Quickly.”

“Roger that,” Athena replied, softly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you want to see mercy ripping ana apart? well folks I suggest you stay tuned
> 
> (thank you so much for the feedback, guys! <3)


	4. wish you were here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ready for a BEHEMOTH chapter because that's what y'all are getting today

_ And did you exchange _ _   
_ _ A walk on part in the war _ _   
_ __ For a leading role in a cage?

  
  


**Zurich, January 11th, 2070**

 

“Damn, kid,” said a voice right behind her shoulder, “Been lookin’ for ya’ all over town.”

Fareeha said nothing, merely gestured the bartender for another dose. He had said it was whisky, but it tasted like donkey’s piss - which was exactly what she needed, since she figured she could power a small car with the alcohol contents in her glass. Her objectives for the day had been to survive the funeral and to get as wasted as possible. The first had been completed, albeit barely, but in what depended on her, the second would be done with honors. 

“Switzerland is so expensive this was the cheapest bar I could find and I’m paying thirteen bucks for this glass,” she mumbled weakly. “How do people manage?”

“Bites me,” the man said, sitting on the stool next to her and tipping his hat down, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll have the same she’s having, pal.”

The barman handed him a glass - he touched her elbow softly, and when she turned, McCree was offering a toast. 

“To all we lost.”

“Yeah,” she croaked, feeling her eyes water once more. She had tried to tell herself to stop crying, but the tears seemed to have their own will. 

“How are you holdin’ up, kid?” he asked, clasping her shoulder tightly. 

“I feel like I’m gonna die,” Fareeha answered, brutally honest. He sighed, sipped on his glass and frowned. 

“Drinkin’ this, I’m not surprised,” he said. “That choir was somethin’ else, Fareeha. Gabriel would be up in tears.”

“He’d complain nonstop about ruining a perfectly good rock song,” she said, smiling softly. She had asked the choir at the funeral service for a rendition of Nothing Else Matters - she knew she’d be ruining the song forever, but figured it’d be only fair. Gabriel, Jack and her mother deserved no less. 

“That he would,” McCree said, grinning. “Listen, kid. I know it’s tough for you. Ana and the boys in a matter of weeks-”

“Yeah,” Fareeha said, weakly. Three weeks before, just as she was considering calling her mother to wish her a happy new year, Gabriel called her to inform her that, sadly, her mother had perished in action. She was in the middle of arranging for her mother’s body to be taken to Egypt for burial when Overwatch’s headquarters exploded, killing Jack and Gabriel along the way. 

She had been at the site. She didn’t know why - she had to see the evidence that it was really gone. Where once the base stood there was only smoke and rubbish; the hallways which had held so much of her history, the memories of a happy childhood, all gone up in smoke and taking everyone she loved with it. Depending on how you looked at it, Fareeha had been crying nonstop with brief pauses of shock for what seemed like an entire life, but only had been really a matter of days. There was so much she wished she could’ve said, and yet. Her past was gone with the smoke rising from the piles of rubble of what once had been her safepoint, and her future didn’t look so good. 

They made a joint wake for the three Overwatch leaders - together in death as they were in life. 

Fareeha had requested a few changes - her mother was a Muslim, so her final rites should be in Arabic, just as Gabriel was a Catholic and would need a priest to bid him his last rites. She asked the choir to sing Nothing Else Matters as the bodies were being lowered into the ground and requested to be the first one to throw the flowers in the graves. No one had the heart to deny her anything. She had, after all, lost her entire family in a matter of days. 

Now that was gone and done, she could sit down and do what any responsible adult would do in her place - get so hammered she wouldn’t even remember her own name, let alone that everything she loved had suddenly died. 

“If you came here to talk me out of drinking myself into oblivion-”

“Remember who you’re talkin’ to, kid?” McCree tsked. “Nah. Figured you needed company.”

“Maybe I do,” Fareeha said, stubborn tears falling from her eyes. “I feel so  _ lonely _ .”

McCree, to his credit, didn’t try to tell her anything - he put his arms across her shoulders and sighed.

“It gets easier,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt less. But you manage.” 

“Shit,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand and feeling the taste of salty tears on her lips. “What am I supposed to do now, Jesse?”

“Hell if I know, kid,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Cry yourself dry, that’s good. Next round is on me.”

  
  
  
  


**Casablanca, November 23th, 2076**

 

The apartment hall had seen better days, Fareeha figured. It was a shady building squished between two Vishkar monstrosities - the Indian company seemed to have eaten half of Casablanca for breakfast, and replaced all the signs in Arabic for an hellish modern elongated font that made it impossible for her to read without the words scrambling into themselves, a huge stick figure mess. 

Eventually she found a beggar who could marginally indicate where she should go (she made sure to give him a fair amount of money as a display of her gratitude) and, after much trial and error, she got to the place - and sincerely wondered how it had managed to stand its ground and resist the modernization infecting its surroundings. 

Perhaps it was Talon - who would want to blow up the building where a terrorist lived, anyways? 

She was sweaty, angry, frustrated, ashamed, and stalling. 

She stomped up the stairs, fuming. Angela had switched all the text at Gibraltar with a font that made it easier to read - she still took longer than the average adult, but to those not privy to her issues, it just seemed like she was paying extra attention to her reports; she’d gotten so used to it she forgot the world wasn’t quite so accommodating. 

Vishkar in specific seemed devoted to making her look stupid. Every time she encountered one of their constructions, the signs, warnings and anything that had to be conveyed in written form used modern fonts so ridiculous she wondered if their designers were specifically targeting dyslexic people to weed out the non-conforming. She wouldn’t put it past them, the assholes. 

There was an elevator in the building, but it apparently had been out of use since before she was even born - the steps weren’t much better, creaking loudly under her feet. Each floor she passed through gave her some weird heard glimpses into the lives of the people living behind the walls: moans, fights, TVs and crying children. Her focus strayed from her hatred for Indian hardlight corporations and quickly took note - nothing too suspicious, just slightly tragic hard living.

The fifth floor was completely silent. If she needed another sign she was in the right place, that was as telling as a neon light bulb shaped like an arrow.

She found the key to apartment 502 under the palm tree on a corner. It took her some effort to raise the plant up - maybe that was why it was hidden there, since no normal person could raise the damn thing without breaking their spine. She toyed with the key with her fingers, absently. 

“Come on, Fareeha,” she muttered to herself, “Sombra was lying. You won’t find anything in here and it will all be a waste of time. Might as well be done with it.”

She had no idea what would be worse, though  - the truth or the disappointment. 

Taking a deep breath, she put the key in the lock and paused upon hearing the soft click, listening in for any noise. Not hearing anything, she turned the handle and, pistol in hand, let herself in. 

There wasn’t anything special about the apartment. It was remarkably well kept considering the state of decay of the building, but it was sterile, bland and boring as only an unlived apartment could be. Fareeha’s focus strayed - there was a small living-slash-dining room, a kitchen, and a door on the left she assumed was for a bedroom. The walls, the floor and the furniture were all different shades of beige, warming up the place in an uncomfortable way, and the absence of dirty dishes on the sink or even laundry spread on the floor made a clear picture of a place that hadn’t had an inhabitant in quite some time. 

Something inside her deflated. Sombra had lead her on, after all. 

“Serves me right,” she said, annoyed. “Should’ve known better than to trust a-”

She stopped short - there was a paper taped to the fridge.

“Dear Uncle Gabe,” she read, “You are the best. Rememder to drink water, and get lots of rest. Love, Fareeha.”

She knew that. Back when she first started learning how to read, Gabriel was the only person who had the patience to withstand her lack of focus, her mischief and her temper tantrums when her frustration with the letters became overwhelming. Writing in arabic was slightly better, but English and latin letters were an absolute nightmare - she’d do anything not to be forced to sit down and read. As she got older, poetry was a medieval torture to her unfocused self - she could not, for the life of her, read rhymes. 

Gabriel would sit with her on early nights, while the buzz of the cafeteria provided some welcome brown noise, and go word after painstakingly difficult word of poem after poem, and yet it did not make any sense. When he realized it made her more frustrated than encouraged, he changed his approach and had her listen to music instead. That was better - even though she couldn’t understand what exactly a word meant, she could remember how it was pronounced. Together, they went through many different rock bands, learning to sing lyric by lyric until she could try writing them down. To that day, every time she had difficulty reading something, she’d try singing it in a familiar tune. 

She had written that letter when Gabriel got wounded in action and was bedridden for months - but her mother insisted he just needed lots of fluids and rest, the same she did when she caught a cold. Figuring Gabriel, just like her, kept being sick because he was too stubborn to do as her mother told, she’d tried her hand at writing a small verse. Her mother had proofread it a few times, and the “b” in “remember” was still mirrored, but it was a great improvement from what she could do before Gabriel took it upon himself to help her defeat her dyslexia. His eyes watered when she had given it to him in the hospital ward, and it had been a permanent fixture in every space he lived - even when she grew up, to her unstoppable dread. 

She touched the yellowed paper softly, swallowing hard. Could it be-

She felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing against her nape and raised her hands, Sombra’s necklace wrapped around her left fingers. The sound of the safety sliding off made the hair on her arms stand at attention. 

“Sombra sent me,” she said quickly, heart jumping out of her chest.

The gun left her skin, but she could feel it hovering. The smell of formaldehyde, gunpowder and hospital wards was thick in her nostrils, and she fought tooth and nail not to gag. 

“I wonder why,” the man groaned, “Didn’t ask her help to get another name off my list.”

Fareeha opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish. She was so stupid she hadn’t even considered Sombra could’ve been sending her straight to her death, like a cow walking to slaughter. Her stomach filled with dread - slowly, she turned around, each step demanding more strength than she ever believed she could possess, until she faced the mask of a barn owl, staring at her emptily.

How many people had died after seeing this mask? How many more would? She fought this man for so long and had absolutely no idea-

_ Dear Uncle Gabe, you are the best- _

She felt her eyes water- 

“Gabriel,” she whispered. “It’s me-”

“I know who you are,” he spat harshly, and raised his gun to her forehead. “I thought you were smarter than to enter the devil’s den, Fareeha.”

She swallowed once more - the stench was hideous, dizzying-

“ _ I _ didn’t,” she said, hoarsely. “I didn’t know who you- Mother never- Uncle Gabe, I didn’t  _ know _ .”

Her voice broke just as memories flooded her mind - lowering his casket on the ground, sitting by his tombstone, the evenings spent drawing on the floor of his office, screaming the lyrics to Master of Puppets while her mother shook her head in mock disapproval, the fries and ice cream he sneaked to her when her mother was strictly against sugar and fats, the Judo and Taekwondo championships where he’d been at the benches, cheering her on as loud and as hard as her mother had-

She felt one tear fall from her right eye. 

“I mourned you,” she said, “All these years there wasn’t a single day where I wouldn’t- I remember you every day. Every single day. Every time I’m saluting, every time I’m shooting, every time I read or- or listen to  _ music _ , from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed there isn’t a single day where I’m not grateful for what you’ve been to me- and I missed you every day for  _ six years _ , because you made me who I am today and I didn’t- I’m so  _ sorry _ , Uncle Gabe, I’m so so  _ sorry _ -” 

Fareeha made no effort to hide her sobs. Reaper lowered his gun. 

“I swear I’d have come earlier if I’d known, but I  _ didn’t _ ,” she insisted. “Mother only came back herself not so long ago, and she never told me. She never told any of us- Sombra thought we knew, but Angela was so pissed she-”

“Slow down,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, running out of words to say - she hugged herself tightly, head pending forwards as her tears fell straight to the white-tiled floor. “Please - please believe me. There was so much I wish I could’ve said to you when- When I thought-”

“I have been betrayed-”

“No!” Fareeha protested, horrified. “What- Never! I’d never, please believe me because I just didn’t know-”

Reaper stood, impassively, the hollowed eyes of the mask staring at her with a hard look. The guilt was overwhelming, gripping her throat so tightly she felt like she was choking. Still sobbing, Fareeha took a hand to her mouth to muffle the noise. There was so much she wished she could’ve said - so many therapy sessions writing letters on end filled to the brim with the things she wanted him to hear before dying, none of which were actually finished. She thought writing letters to dead people was ridiculous, but the words were tattooed across her mind. 

She didn’t want to die. But in that moment, not dying was less urgent than making him believe she didn’t know he was alive - and that she was so very sorry. 

“Inside the fridge there’s a water bottle,” he said, tightly. “Pick it up.”

She did so, without wanting to annoy or upset him even further. He pointed one clawed finger to the chair by the kitchen table. “Sit.”

She did. 

“Drink.”

She unscrewed the bottle and drank half its contents in one go. The tears gave no sign of wavering, and Fareeha just accepted she’d be a red swollen mess if she ever came out of that apartment alive. 

Reaper sighed, rubbing his hand on his mask. It was hard to tell what he was thinking when he hid under layers and layers of metal and cloth, but if she had to guess, she’d go with conflicted. 

“I am… not dead,” he started, “But I am not alive either. But whatever I am, this is what I am now. Gabriel Reyes died in that explosion, Fareeha. I’m just a shadow of what once was a man. So if you came here looking for him-”

“I came here looking for you,” she answered, quickly “I am not the same I was when we last saw each other either.”

“But you didn’t become this- monster!” He roared, and punched the refrigerator door, creating a dent roughly the size of his fist and startling the soldier into attention. “I don’t have a soul, I don’t have a body, I don’t have- anything but revenge! Who you’re looking for is dead and gone, and has been for years now, Fareeha. There’s no saving me from what I became.”

She stood still, and slowly stood up from the chair. Gripping her water bottle tightly, she took a step closer to where the Reaper was hunched down on himself. 

“I don’t want to save you,” she said, softly. “Whoever you are now, and whoever you were then, I don’t really give a shit. You’re family, Uncle Gabe,” she pleaded, “The very little family I have left. Please, don’t- don’t go. I’ve been so  _ alone _ .”

Reaper made a heaving sound, balling his fists tightly. His breathing was deep and erractical, but Fareeha stood her ground, unwavered. He gave a small laugh, bringing chills down her spine. 

“Shit. You’ve gotten bigger, kid,” he said, tiredly.  

  
  
  


“This house is not mine,” Reaper said, absently. “It’s a safehouse.”

“Not for long,” Fareeha said. She was sitting by the table while Reaper leaned against the fridge - she had managed to find some coffee lost in a cabinet and took the liberty of making herself some, under Reaper’s watchful sight. He still had his arms crossed over his chest and did not lose the mask, but he was no longer pointing a gun at her face, which sounded a lot like progress. 

The coffee was shit. She figured she kinda should’ve seen that one coming, but if anything, she could pretend her frown was due to the taste of burned rubber in her mouth, and not the gut-wrenching effort she was making to stop her body from collapsing from the pain, the hurt, and the searing longing. 

He gave her a questioning look and she shrugged. “I mean, there’s nothing more compromising than having Overwatch’s leader’s daughter standing in your kitchen, that’s what I’m saying.”

“They won’t know,” he said, sternly. “Even if they did this is not my problem.”

“Wonder why, with how hard it is to find it,” she said. “Damned Vishkar signs everywhere and not a single word of Arabic to give solace to a dyslexic girl.”

Reaper grunted in concomitance. 

“I’m doing better,” she mentioned. “Angela found this font that makes it a lot easier to read, and now it’s mandatory for reports. I’m dating Angela, by the way,” she added, nervously, and he quirked his head to the side. “Didn’t see that one coming?”

“Can’t say I have,” he said. “Angela Ziegler and Ana Amari have finally reached an understanding, then?”

“Oh hell no,” she shook her head profusely, “But that’s half the appeal. That and her legs.”

He laughed hoarsely, shaking his head. 

“I bet your mother loved it.”

“I thought she would explode,” she grinned. “Why here? I could bet there are safehouses closer to Gibraltar.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “Sombra is very fond of this place. I brought her here once, one of our first missions together. Her implant malfunctioned and she started seizuring. When she woke up, she nearly raised the dead with her screaming but no one gave a shit. She said something about being incognito.”

“You could’ve lost the mask,” she offered. 

“Not an option,” he stated, dryly. “But yes, it was because of the mask. Shaped like a barn owl. She saw it and thought she’d died.”

“Uh,” Fareeha said, confused. “What?”

“It’s a folklore story in Mexico,” he explained, “ _ La Lechuza _ is a woman who takes the form of a giant barn owl. She was wronged in life and seeks revenge in death. I believe,” he said, “that sounds familiar.”

“Wonder where I’ve heard this before,” she said, wryly. “That’s why the pendant?”

“She thought it’d be a funny joke as a thank you gift. Sombra likes giving gifts.”

“Good,” she laughed, then paused, considering if she should ask the question on her mind and ultimately deciding to go for it. “Why are you so fond of Sombra?”

Reaper was silent for a few moments. Talking to him had plenty of pauses, she figured quickly. 

“She- She reminded me a lot. Of you.” He said, slowly. Her immediate reaction was to protest - she and the mexican hacker had nothing in common, but let the information sink in slowly. Sombra was under his wing as much as she had been, once. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that she grounded him in his humanity - reminding him of a time he could love freely and with no constraints. 

“She’s still in our base, you know. Planning on picking her up soon?”

Reaper shakes his head. 

“She wanted out and she’s made her choice. It was the best I could do.”

“I do owe her an apology,” she grimaced. “I sorta punched her in the face. I thought she was lying when she said you were alive.”

“She has been punched for less,” he said, then paused. “Ana didn’t mention anything?”

“No,” Fareeha said, pushing her feelings of anger and betrayal to a place deep inside herself. She would deal with her mother’s lies later. 

“Typical Ana,” he groaned, then sighed. “I will miss my rendezvous if I stay longer, kid.”

Half of her, childishly, wanted to ask him to stay - pour him a coffee, tell him all he’s missed from her life. The lovers she had, her heartbreaks, her passions, her achievements, her pain. The other half understood that whatever little time they had would have to be enough. 

Both halves hurt deeply to let him go.  

“Okay,” she said weakly. “Before you go, I- Can I see you?”

“ _ No _ ,” he replied, harshly, and she flinched. “I mean. I don’t want you to remember- this. It’s best if you don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” she said. He seemed to consider, then carefully removed one clawed glove.

His hand was gray and distorted, stretches of skin being pulled to every direction. There was barely any meat left - what once were thick fingers were now long expanses of skin and bone. His hand looked not unlike what a living skeleton would in a horror movie - and yet, against all her instincts, she clasped it tightly inside her own. It felt oddly frail for something that had killed so many. 

“Thank you,”  she whispered, emotional. 

He was silent for a moment - the holes of his mask bearing holes into her eyes. His hand squeezed hers tightly, then; a sign of understanding. 

“Take care, kid,” he said, and in a burst of smoke, left her alone in the apartment to do what she’d been fighting herself not to since he put his gun against her head - her knees collapsed and, amidst the sobbing and the tears, she heaved whatever little was in her stomach straight onto the white-tiled floor. 

  
  


The sea kissed her feet softly as she wriggled her toes into the sand. She was never one for lounging on the beach, but there was some peace to be found within the soft roaring of the waves, the cold water grounding her in the present. She had rolled her suit pants to her mid-calves, and let the water lap around her legs lazily as she synced her breathing with the ocean - in, and out. In and out. She focused on what she was feeling: the salt on her lips, the wind in her hair, the texture of the sand under her bare feet, the rhythm of her breathing. 

Fareeha needed time to process the last few hours. Meeting Gabriel after so many years left a bittersweet taste in her mouth - longing, hurt and happiness and bile staining her lips. Her mind was reeling, trying to reconcile the man who brought her up and the man who now went by Reaper and whose body count was probably up in the thousands. 

Maybe this was why her mother had chosen to hide the truth rather than admit to the harsh reality of who Gabriel had become. She could understand why, but in the end, couldn’t agree with it, especially after she’d spent years thinking her entire family was dead - it wasn’t like Ana had been protecting her from grief, that boat had sailed long before. Why then? The more she thought about it, the stranger her mother became, to the point of near unrecognition. Who was that being hiding behind her mother’s skin?

She shivered. Her feet gradually became more pale, slowly freezing into numbness. She wondered how dangerous it would be to let herself be engulfed by the sea, so the chilly water would make her entire body numb - eyes shut, she imagined how must it be to swim with the fish and become one with the foam, with no betrayal, no confusion, just plain blissful silence-

“Excuse me,” said a female voice right behind her - Fareeha groaned as she was ripped away from her peaceful daydreaming, “I require assistance.”

Fareeha turned around and a series of thoughts ran through her head, as she took in the woman by parts: first, looking at her feet, she wondered who would be insane enough to go to the beach in high-heeled leather boots that, judging by their look, could pay for two or three times her rent. 

As her eyes crept up, she had a sudden understanding that she didn’t really care much why the woman wore them to the beach, as long as she never ever took them off her perfectly slender legs - and maybe stomped on her back with them, God knew she wouldn’t mind. 

Eyes sweeping the flat stomach, round breasts and perfectly aligned hair, Fareeha was pretty sure if the assistance she required was to serve as her sex slave for the rest of her life, she’d be glad for the opportunity. 

And then she saw the Vishkar logo stitched on her blue blouse. 

_ Really? _ She asked to an unnamed superior entity.  _ Fucking Vishkar? _

“I’m sorry?” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” the woman said, stepping away from where she stood. “I thought you were Vishkar personnel. Nevermind. Have a great evening.” 

“Wait,” Fareeha said, as the woman balanced her heels on the sand and slowly made her way out of her eyesight, “Wait! What do you need?”

She paused, eyeing Fareeha warily. She scanned her bare feet, pants rolled unevenly to her calves, shirt hanging out of the belt and open to the middle of her chest, barely hiding her underwear, and hair disheveled by the sea breeze. 

“Maybe I can- You know,” Fareeha cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “I can help you? I’m Fareeha, by the way.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” the woman said, clearly not impressed. 

Fareeha suddenly felt like she was thirteen and crushing on her first girl, stuttering and bumbling her way to ask her out. Her hands were clammy and she wiped them on her pants, to the clear disapproval of the woman she was trying to impress.

“What I was saying is, maybe I can help you,” she offered. 

“I don’t suppose you can tell me where the Sofitel Hotel is, can you?”

Shit. 

“Well no,” she admitted, blushing. 

“Then I suppose you cannot help me, after all,” the woman said, dryly. “Good evening.”

“Hey, hey!” Fareeha insisted, stomping out of the ocean and splashing water in every direction - the mysterious woman took a few steps back, apparently disgusted. “I mean, I don’t know where it is, but I can help you find it, maybe take you there too.”

The woman cocked her head to the right, intrigued. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“You’re not a Vishkar employee,” she said, “and are under no obligation to assist me. I do not see how that would be beneficial to you.”

“Well, maybe I just want to know your name,” Fareeha said, smoothly. Inside her mind, she did a small victory dance. 

“That’s hardly an adequate compensation for the trouble of taking me to my hotel,” the woman frowned.

_ Jesus fucking Christ on a flying pogostick _ , Fareeha cursed internally. It was a rare occasion when she managed to sweet talk someone - she had the elegance of a Golden Retriever puppy, to the point where she had honed the ability to puppy eye people into dates. This had been a comeback so smooth Reinhardt would be giving her a standing ovation, and it flew right over the woman’s beautiful head. 

“Uh,” she said, scratching her nape. “Maybe your phone number too?”

“What would you do with my- Oh,” the woman said, as the meaning of Fareeha’s innuendo finally caught up with her, and she blushed profusely. “Um. I wouldn’t want to bother.”

“Not bothering,” Fareeha said, quickly. “If you read me the signs, I can hail us a cab.” 

“What’s the matter with the signs?”

“It’s a long story. I can’t read them. I’ll tell you on the way.”

The woman nodded, and trailed right behind Fareeha as she made her way out of the beach. She cleared her throat. 

“Satya.”

“What?”

“Satya Vaswani,” she said, raising her right eyebrow. “If there are to be introductions.”

_ Good to know the owner of my soul has a name,  _ Fareeha thought to herself. 

_ Fucking hell, I have a girlfriend, _ she thought right after. 

_ Well, it’s not like she has even called me- _

“Stop making excuses,” she said to herself, “You shouldn’t be-”

“Yes?” Satya asked. 

“What? Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud,” she lied, quickly. “So. Cab?”

  
  
  


Fareeha quickly noticed a few things about Satya - she was clearly obsessed with her appearance, as she kept wiping and straightening her clothes and hair; she clearly did not like people touching her, and was a clear germaphobe. 

Sitting in a car that looked and smelled like the last it’d seen a vacuum cleaner was way before the first omnic crisis plus some ten or twenty years, the cushioning of the backseat colored dark by some suspicious stains and touching all the edges of Fareeha’s body, as the cab was too small for them to comfortably sit one next to the other, was probably something akin to a nightmare to the woman. 

Let it not be said that Fareeha wasn’t trying. She was contorting herself to stay as far from Satya as she could, but since the driver decided the most comfortable position for him to drive was to lean his seat back as far as possible, her legs had no room to go other then right next to her, and each time she’d try to put herself next to the window her butt would slip in whatever thrice-damned liquid that was staining the backseat and she’d end up half-laying on Satya’s lap. Satya herself said nothing, merely folded her hands on her lap with as much dignity as she could muster. 

“So,” Fareeha said, “What brings you to Casablanca?”

“Business,” she answered, clipped. “And you?”

“Me? Um. I came to see family,” she said, absently. “An uncle of mine.”

“So you come to Casablanca often, then.”

“Oh no,” Fareeha waved her head. “No, he, uh, let’s say he just recently relocated.”

“Pity. I would like to know your opinion on the Vishkar improvements to the area.”

“Improvements, that’s what you’re calling it these days,” she said, absently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Uh, nothing,” Fareeha shrugged. “The city just seems designed to make me feel stupid, that’s all. That damned font they use for all the signs-”

“I have designed the font myself,” Satya said, dryly. “It takes into consideration available space, cleanliness and overall aesthetic, and uses the surface of the plaques and signs efficiently.”

_ Way to go, _ Fareeha, she cursed internally. 

“No, it’s just-” She sighed. “I am dyslexic, so this font is impossible to read because all the letters look exactly the same to me.”

Satya quirked one eyebrow curiously. The drivers horn sounded loudly at a pedestrian, and they both startled - Satya held tightly to her arms, fingers digging into a purple bruise on her left forearm. 

“Order hinders your reading, then.”

“One could say so,” Fareeha said, then looked out of the window - the Sofitel tower stood proudly on the opposite path the driver was taking. 

_ “Excuse me, _ ” she said, “ _ But the Hotel is right there _ .”

“No,” he replied. “Roundabout. Avenue big.”

“But yo _ u just had to turn left at that intersection _ ,” she said. “Y _ ou know what, nevermind. Just stop right here and we’ll cross the street. _ ”

He muttered something to himself, but pulled over to the curb. 

“80 euro,” he said.

“What?” Satya asked, stunned.

“Whoa buddy,” Fareeha said. “That’s a bit excessive-”

“90 euro,” he said, turning back to give them a crooked, yellow-teethed smile. 

“Did he just raise the price?” Satya asked, stunned. 

“Clean fee,” he said.

“ _ Are you shitting me, my man?”  _ Fareeha asked in Arabic. “ _ This trip was long but it did not cost 90 euros. Cut the bullshit.” _

_ “This is my cab and I’ll charge what I want,”  _ he replied, and indicated the stain on the backseat. “ _ There's a cleaning fee for the stains you made in the car.” _

_ “You know they were here for God knows how long!”  _ Fareeha protested, “ _ We had nothing to do with it!” _

_ “Either you prove it or you pay it up.” _

_ “ _ Amari,” Satya said, nervously. “Just let it go-”

“I am not being scammed by a cab today,” she said, pointedly, “Of all the days,  _ not  _ today.  _ Listen, my man,” _ she turned to the driver, _ “we are not paying ninety fucking bucks for a fifteen minute ride-” _

The driver opened the glove box and pulled a swiss knife, unsheathing it and pointing it towards Satya. “Pay.”

“And that’s our cue,” Fareeha said, grabbing Satya by the wrist and kicking the door open, pulling her out of the car and in the middle of a very crowded avenue. “Run.”

In Fareeha’s defense, this wasn’t the first nor would be the last time she ran into a busy avenue, evading cars and buses and motorbikes and being cursed at by reasonably angry drivers. She had run from worse things, actually - in actual war zones and from actual bullets and bombs. This was half the reason why, between trying to disarm someone in a cramped cab and running away, this seemed the most obvious choice. 

Satya, however, was clearly opposite to the idea. 

“Are you insane?” she shrieked as soon as they stepped on the Hotel’s lobby. “Were you trying to get us killed?”

“I didn’t-”

“We could’ve been stabbed!” She yelled, “Or ran over by a car! Your recklessness almost got us dead-”

“But it didn’t-”

“Do I look like I care if it didn’t?” Satya shrieked, slapping her on the shoulder. Her hair was in complete disarray, clothes stained and crumpled, and she looked irate, wild, and stunning. Fareeha mentally kicked herself for thinking whether that was what she would look like that after having sex. “Of all the stupid, brainless ideas-”

“Satya.”

They both turned their heads to the man leaving the elevator and making his way towards them - he was a tall, brown-skinned man, with broad shoulders and heavy steps. Satya dry-swallowed, and quickly tried to put her appearance in order.

“We have been looking for you,” he said, putting a lock of hair behind her ear and holding her arm softly.  _ She’s married, _ Fareeha thought, feeling the undying need to punch herself repeatedly in the face.  _ Just my absolute fucking luck.  _

She also had a girlfriend, but well. She’d dwell on that guilt later. 

“I got lost,” Satya answered, dryly. “Fareeha was helping me-”

“Fareeha? Who-” he turned to her, gave her a soft smile and offered his hand. “Oh. Sanjay Korpal. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Fareeha…”

“Amari,” she said, shaking his hand. He had a weak handshake, and the trust switch in her head was turned off immediately. This was a man one should never trust. 

“Oh? Are you related to-”

“Ana Amari, yes,” she sighed. “Overwatch’s Second in Command. She is- was. She was my mother.”

“Won’t you look at that,” he said, and gave her a sly smile. “You always get very important people to fix your problems for you, don’t you Satya?”

Satya remained impassible, hands clasped behind her back - the passive-aggressiveness of the comment did not go unnoticed by Fareeha, who instantly disliked Sanjay even more. He shook his head softly. “I am very sorry for your loss,” he said. “I have heard Ana was an extraordinary woman.”

“That she was,” Fareeha said, absently, her anger at her mother rising up her throat like bile. “Wherever she is, I hope I am making her proud.”

“But you grew up well within Overwatch’s inner circle,” Sanjay said. “The end of the organization must’ve been quite a blow.”

“Um,” she said, uncomfortable.

“I mean, all of the commanders at once-”

“My mother died in action before the base exploded,” she said, dryly. “My mother, Gabriel and Jack died in a span of three weeks. I had more to worry about than the political end of an organization, like making sure their bodies were buried.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sanjay shook his head. “Terrible subject to bring up. Pardon my indiscretion.” 

“Sure,” she said, vaguely.

“In any case, I insist on compensating you for your help to Satya,” he said, bringing the woman closer. “I don’t even want to consider what could’ve happened if she was on her own. Why did you even run away, dear?”

“I did not run away,” Satya stated, frowning. “I was taking a closer look at the newest building’s construction site and got carried away.”

“I thought you’d learned by now not to trust yourself on your own, dear,” he sighed. “Thank God Fareeha found you in time. I apologize for the inconvenience, Miss-”

“Captain,” Fareeha corrected. She usually didn’t expect people to follow through on such formalities, but an exception could be made for Sanjay. 

“Captain Amari,” he said, and smiled once more, eying her dirty suit, disheveled shirt and the nest her hair had become - she really, really wanted to punch the ironic smile off his face. “I am aware your time could be better spent other than babysitting Vaswani. I would like to compensate you accordingly.”

“Uh, no thanks,” she said, raising her hands. “Satya is great company.”

“Really, now,” he said, absently. “I insist you at least take a cab home on me. Tell the reception to add it to my bill.”

“Sure,” she said, but what she really meant was no way in hell. She looked at Satya - the woman looked like a statue, glued to the floor and pointedly staring at the ceiling, fingers still tracing the outline of the bruise on her arm. There was something oddly wrong about the entire situation, and her instinct told her not to let Satya go without giving her her contact first. 

The day had given her a hard lesson on trusting what her gut told her. 

“That being done,” Sanjay said, “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll take our leave. Satya, come.”

“I’ll see Captain Amari out,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t take long, then,” he said, heading for the elevators. “I’ve lost enough sleep because of you already. Captain.”

“Mr. Korpal,” she said, and eyed him as he made his way back to the elevators. “Isn’t he a ray of sunshine?”

“Mr. Korpal is an incredible asset to Vishkar’s success,” Satya recited, like reading off a book. “We are very lucky to have him.”

“Sure,” Fareeha said, and looked to the elevators warily before searching the inner pocket of her suit for a card. It was a Helix Security card, but the number was correct, and she handed it over to Satya. “Listen, I- Just. If you need anything, give me a call, okay?”

Satya said nothing, but pocketed the card anyways. 

“I appreciate the gesture,” she said, vaguely. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Don’t worry,” Fareeha waved her hand, “Don’t keep him waiting. I’ll see myself out.”

Satya nodded, and Fareeha watched her go feeling like she had let a sheep walk into the wolf’s den. 

“Would you like me to call you a cab, Ma’am?” Said the man at the reception.

“What?” she said, “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ll walk.”

  
  


It was only when she reached Gibraltar Fareeha realized the bruise on Satya’s arm was oddly shaped like  fingertips. 

  
  
  


“They will think you have become soft, Reyes.”

“The things Talon doesn’t know could fill a library,” Reaped said. They were on a rooftop in Casablanca, Widowmaker patiently sitting on her spot and looking at her target’s window through the scope of her rifle. He was leaning on a wall, arms crossed. 

“The things they do know could get you killed,” she said. “You already let Sombra go, and now you’ve failed to get another name off your list-”

“Fareeha is no longer on my list,” he said, dryly, then paused. 

“Why?” she asked, mocking, “Does she make you feel  _ alive _ ?”

“Maybe,” he said. “You could try finding something along those lines too, you know.”

“I have killed all that once made me feel alive,” She stated, empitly. 

“I beg to differ,” he said. “If that’s so, why is Lena Oxton still living?”

He barely had time to morph into his wraith form before a bullet found itself lodged right where his head was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "why did you tag symmetra/pharah if there's none so far" WELL HERE IT IS
> 
> thank you all for the feedback! here's hoping I can keep posting every other week now my classes are about to start


	5. hunger of the pine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's sex. you have been warned.

_ And so you finally use it _ _   
_ _ Bedding with me you see at night _ _   
_ __ Your heart wears knight armour   
  


  
  
  


**Los Angeles, May 3rd, 2069**

 

“So what you mean,” she said, voice wobbly,  “is that I won’t walk again.”

“Walk?” The doctor asked. Her CT Scan was displayed on the doctor’s holoscreen, a three-dimensional rendition of what her spine looked like - he turned it around itself looking intently at the work done to connect her implants to his spine and shook his head.  “Dear, if you take this implant out  _ and _ survive, you’ll be lucky if you can even move your head.”

She figured it was true there was no way around the harsh reality of what she’d done to herself, but the Orthopedist could at least try to be a bit kinder - his sentence hit her like an ice bucket to the face, and she felt her eyes water. Groaning, she hastily wiped the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 

“It’s upsetting, I know,” he said. There was “Dr. Eugene Kwon” stitched to his white coat, his thick black hair peppered with white and gray. He would be at least fifty years old, Sombra figured, and  each time he turned the hologram of her spine around he gave a long sigh. She had searched all over the internet for the best doctor around her that could get rid of the implant on her spine - Dr. Kwon was the third opinion she got, and he had the same opinion as everyone else: they did not know how, but she’d most likely be dead if not for the implant on her back. 

She started to consider if that’d be such a terrible option. That was how desperate she was to get the damned thing out of her head. 

“See,” he carried on, pointing to the point where her skull and spine met. “This is your C1 vertebra. Your implant starts here and goes two thirds down your thoracic spine, roughly between your T8 and T9. So this means half of your spine has been compromised. Aesthetically, it doesn’t look so bad, but the problem is how the surgeon made the connection between your nervous system and the machinery. Just to give you some comparison,” he said, “if you came to an E.R after, say, a car accident, and you had the same injury, you’d be taken straight to the morgue.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling nauseous. 

“The programming part, however, is something to be reckoned with if it managed to keep you alive and functioning all this time,” he leaned back in his chair. “It literally took over the job your nerves and spinal cord had. So the programming is not the problem-”

“The programming is  _ exactly _ the problem,” she insisted. “I want it  _ out _ .”

“Why?”

“I keep- There’s-” she paused, drawing in a shaky breath. Only when the doctor handed her a tissue box she realized tears were falling from her eyes once more - her hands trembled. 

“I keep feeling things,” she continued, weakly. “It just- I can’t control it  _ okay _ , and now I just- I cry over  _ everything _ , and I keep remembering shit I don’t want to remember, and then there are times I literally go fucking  _ nuts _ and hear  _ voices _ I just zone out and forget what I was doing for like twenty minutes, and when I do notice, I’ve fallen down and I don’t know, cracked my head open-”

“Has anyone in your family or close friends ever told you what you look like when you have those episodes?”

Her eyes filled with even more tears, and she drew in a shaky breath. 

“My- My family died in the war,” she said, “and the reason I had this implanted in the first place was to run from some freaky shit, so I don’t really have anyone.”

Dr. Kwon eyed her with something akin to pity or sympathy, and offered to throw her used tissues in the trash can. 

“I’m not a neurologist, but in your scan, see,” he zoomed in on her holographic head, where the titanium and gold wiring spread around her skull like a spiderweb. “The implants go deep into your brain, which can be causing epilepsy-like symptoms and messing with your emotional processing. We could alter the programming to see if you can make it less rough on your brain-”

“I’ve tried that,” she sniffed. She couldn’t tell the doctor the implants on her back and brain didn’t have a mere programming - they held a fully functioning and conscient Artificial Intelligence that was the only reason she could evade the Corporation. She’d had it implanted in impulsive desperation, and didn’t think about the effects it might have - only when memories nuked her awake every single night and she figured she simply could not control her tears or emotions any longer it dawned on her what a big fat fucking mistake she’d made. 

Hacking shit with her eyes was sweet, yeah, but she was fucking sick and tired of waking up feeling unwanted hands crawling up her underwear. She’d lived very well without remembering the shit that went down in her youth and did. Not. Want. It. Back. 

“Oh,” he said, and sighed heavily, taking off his glasses. “I don’t really know what to tell you, miss. I wouldn’t say it’s 100% sure, but a good 98% of chance of death if you ever try to remove it. The other 2% would be living pretty much like a vegetable.”

“Okay,” she said, resigned to look for another doctor who could give her another opinion. “So I should go to a neurologist, then?” 

“I’m not even sure a neurologist would help you here,” he said, then paused. “There’s- I know there’s one doctor in Switzerland. Dr. Angela Ziegler. She’s doing some work with biotech and trauma recovery, and it seems to have some good perspectives, but it’s experimental at best. It’s brilliant on paper, if she ever manages to pull it off, but your case would be too extreme even to be considered for a medical trial. My opinion is, and I think Dr. Ziegler would agree, that until the tech is refined, you shouldn’t mess with this any further. I’m going to be really honest with you here, kid,” he sighed, taking off his glasses. “That you are even alive is a goddamn miracle.” 

Sombra stared at him, stunned. Her lips tasted salt - had she even stopped crying ever since she sat on this chair? It seemed and felt like she had been crying for ages. 

There was no hope, then. She sunk on her chair and let her head fall into her hands, gut filled with dread. She’d have to live and eat and sleep and carry on with that damned A.I. digging though all sorts of shit in her brain she had locked even herself out of. She couldn’t deal with it. She just couldn’t-

“Hey,” Dr. Kwon called her softly. “Listen, this is not my area, but if your problem is with past psychological trauma, I think maybe I know someone that can help you.”

He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to her - she held it with shaky fingers, reading the phone and address warily. Dr. Emily Jennings-

She eyed him, shocked. 

“Did you just give me the number of a therapist?”

  
  
  


**Gibraltar, November 23rd, 2076**

 

“I come bearing gifts- whoa!” Lúcio said, raising his hands. “Jesus shit, what happened?”

“Tripped over and fell,” Sombra said, vaguely, trying to focus enough to read the book on her lap. She knew her jaw had to be swollen - it was hard even speaking, and she felt the flesh pulsing on the spot where Amari’s fist had connected to her skin. “Or your friend Captain Amari thought I’d look lovely with an asymmetrical face. Choose whatever, it’s up to you.” 

“Well, I heard it was bad,” he said, pulling the iron chair from outside the storage room next to her bed, where she was sitting, and flopping gracelessly on the seat, “Didn’t know it was that bad. Did you ask Angie to take a look at that for you?”

“She’s got more on her plate now,” Sombra grimaced. “I heard she was planning to murder Ana Amari in her sleep.”

“She was?” Lucio laughed. He had a way of laughing with his entire body, like every atom of every cell was compelled to make even his bones shake in happiness. It was the dimples, she figured, and maybe also the very very soft hands. A small smirk sprouted from her lips upon hearing his laughter. “I don’t think there’s a single day where she’s not plotting at least some slight kind of manslaughter towards Ana.”

“And yet she’s boning her daughter.”

“There’s a-”

“Brazilian song that goes something something?” Sombra completed, smirking. 

“ _ Quem um dia irá dizer que existe razão nas coisas feitas pelo coração, _ ” He laughed. “Who’s to say there’s logic in what the heart does. Do I really quote songs all that much?”

“Only all the time,” she said, smiling softly. Lucio breathed, ate, slept, walked and lived music. It was a pattern she noticed the first time it was his shift to babysit her - he’d pull out one of  at least a hundred thousand playlists he crafted like a jeweler crafted a piece of very expensive jewelry to be background noise to their conversations - which could last for hours, if left to their own devices. He had a song for anything and everyone, immediately assigning her a theme the first time they met.

Sombra, needless to say, liked Lúcio very fucking much. 

Not one to break tradition, he pulled out a small speaker and his phone, searching through his immense musical library. “What’s on the radio today, DJ?” she asked.

“Hmm, not sure,” he said, absently. “I’m feeling fancy, but cheerful, and yet slightly sassy and sexy. What about some good old samba to get the mood going?”

Sombra shrugged - he pressed play, and the speakers let in a slow flute tune and sad guitar chords. 

“Wow,” she remarked, “Thought I’d suffer through another afternoon of booty songs..”

“Time and place for everything, baby,” he winked. “Nothing better for loosening up than shaking your ass. Besides, you digged some one of them-”

“One song-”

“Even got your moves on to  _ Vai Malandra _ and everything!”

“Jesus,” she wheezed, shaking her head. 

“By the way, here,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “I’ll have to take the lighter with me when I go but hey, suit yourself.”

“Oh my God,” Sombra said, almost ripping the pack away from Lucio’s hands. Quickly, with trembling fingers, she lit a cigarette and slowly inhaled the smoke, feeling a shiver go down her spine-

_ <Angela said this would kill you, remember?> _

_ >Do I even give a fuck about what Ziegler thinks-< _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

“-don’t tell her I gave that to you,” She caught Lucio saying, mid-sentence. “Oh, this is a good one.  _ Ainda é cedo amor, mal começastes a conhecer a vida- _ ”

“A sad samba?,” she said, absently, licking her lips to taste the nicotine. “Jesus, that feels like kicking a puppy.”

“Oh?” Lucio said, “Okay, let’s go for something brighter- Here!”

“That’s more like it,” she smirked as Lucio used his knees as drums, slapping the rhythm away on his joints. She took another drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs as her blood pressure started to lower and she leaned back on the bed. Jesus, how she’d missed smoking.

_ “Minha carne é de carnaval _ ,” he sung, happily,  _ “Meu coração é igual- _ Jesus, I miss carnival.”

“Always wanted to go,” she commented, cigarette hanging from her lips as she stared at the ceiling.

“Definitely should,” he insisted. “Four days devoted to party, you know? You are royalty for the weekend and you really get to own the city. For me it was like, even more significant,” he leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling, a tell-tale sign he was about to spill some philosophical shit about life and living. “Because I could really own the city, get it? Like, growing up in the favela, the favela is your life. All your family and friends are there, and like, you know what’s up you know? But unlike you gringos seem to think, Rio is not all favelas. There were places I knew I wouldn’t be welcome, like Ipanema or Leblon. But during carnival it was like that didn’t matter, I’d go up and down the city and make friends of all colors, shapes and sizes-”

“And drink lots of alcohol,” she added. 

“Sure,” he laughed. “I don’t drink though. So my aunties would put me in charge to make sure everyone got home safe and sound.” 

“Did you?”

“Well,” Lucio scratched his nape, “They got home safe, but I never took responsibility for any minor injuries, wounds, alcohol poisonings or sexually transmitted diseases.”

“The what now?” Sombra snickered.    
“Well, I’m not about to knock on a brother’s shoulder and be like ‘hey dude, remember your mom told you to use condoms!’ while he’s doing the dirty.”

Sombra let out a laugh, shaking her head. There was something infectious about his laughter and his upbeat attitude, able to make everyone around him feel better instantaneously. Case in point: she had been lying in bed pretending to read and not thinking about the closed door of her cell, feeling like absolute shit and questioning her own reality. Had she really lied about Gabriel? Was she wrong? Sometimes she couldn’t trust her own mind-

She took another drag of the cigarette, clearing her throat. She wouldn’t go down that path - she refused it. It was way too easy for people to brand her a liar and a cheater, when in all truth she was none of that. She omitted information, true, but she was always honest. People just had a hard time accepting the truth. 

“You miss it?” She asked him, desperate to be taken out of the dangerous crooks and crannies of her own mind. 

“Every day,” he said, with deep longing. “I mean, yeah, I bought mom a cool apartment in a very nice neighborhood, and my nieces and nephews all go to good schools now, but it was… I’m not going to say nicer, it was difficult,” he shrugged, “When you’re poor it’s always difficult. But I had my family, you know? Mom always said no matter what happened, we would be fine if we were together. And we all lived on the same street, I never missed them like I do now. Grandma still lives there. It’s nice to go back, they don’t treat me like a music star, it’s like I’m a son. Free food everywhere, dude!”

“You know,” Sombra said, closing the book on her lap and crossing her legs. “Sometimes I’m like ‘hey, I miss Lúcio’, but then you come around and I’m reminded of how much you like to talk-”

“Asshole,” he said, laughing. “Okay, sure, I’ll shut up for a sec. What about you? Do you miss where you grew up?”

“Jesus, no,” she said, hurriedly, “At all, I’ll be a happy woman if I never have to step on that twice-damned city again.”

“That’s a no good attitude,” he tsked. 

“I’m gonna shove the good attitude up your ass,” she glared. “It’s just- I have no reason to go back. No family, no friends, no good memories. It’s like, I’ll always carry it with me, but it’s not home, you see? I don’t think I have a home to speak of.”

She was blinded by a sudden vision of the sun setting on the Dorado bay, the city being slowly swallowed by darkness. Slowly, the milky way ripped the night sky with its million stars - Sombra would sit by a staircase as the sun lazily made its descent across the sky, blue flickering out like candlelight, and she lived for these rare moments where the city held its breath as power shifted to the gangs and the violence and all the things that happened in the night - and right before she had to work. 

_ <You wish you could go back!> _

_ >I wish you could shut your damn mouth-< _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“- _ E no entanto, não desato esse laço _ ,” Lucio was quoting, gravely, “ _ Tão apertado, parece forca. _ ”

“Another song?” She asked, vaguely. “What does it mean?”

“And yet, I can’t untie this tie. It’s so tight, it feels like hang rope. But this is from a book, not a song,” he gave her a toothy smile. “Speaking of which, how do you like the books I gave you?”

“Oh, love them,” she said, nodding to the pile leaning on the opposite wall. “Read almost all.”

“Read Dom Casmurro?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing. She hadn’t given the book a second thought when she picked it up, but soon found herself hooked to the 19th century story of a man and his wife - and the jealousy that broke them apart. 

“That’s my jam, babe! So, what’s your verdict?” he asked, amused. “Did Capitu or did she not cheat on Bentinho?”

“You know what, I don’t think she did,” she said, “But I kinda wish she had. That’s a guy who deserves to get cheated on.”

Lucio laughed, wholeheartedly - the music changed once more and he clapped happily. 

“That’s my man, Jorge Ben Jor. Great musician,” he mimicked the sound of saxophones with his mouth, “ _ Eu estou vestido com as roupas e as armas de Jorge, para que meus inimigos tenham mãos e não me toquem- _ ”

“He made a song to himself?”

“Oh no, that’s for Saint George. Or the orisha Ogum. See, back in the day, when slaves were brought to Brazil, they had their gods and stuff, right? But they couldn't honor or pray for them, ‘cause they had to be catholics and shit. So-”

“They linked a god to a saint and pretended to be praying to a saint,” Sombra completed. 

“How did you know that?” He asked, impressed. 

“I didn’t,” she shrugged, “Just figured.”

“Good guess,” Lucio smiled, giving her a high five. “In any cases, that became two religions, Umbanda and Candomblé, and people still believe in them, so that’s why the song. It’s a prayer, actually.”

“Do you believe in them?”

He paused, leaning back in his chair and rubbed his chin, thoughtful. 

“I do,” he said, finally. “I mean, I’m not devout. Mama makes her offerings to Yemanjá religiously every month. But when I’m home I do go to the Umbanda. Give me some peace, you know, some connection to my roots-”

_ <Why don’t you believe in God?> _

_ >I am not talking to an AI inside my head about God-< _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“-bra,” he said, shaking her shoulder. “Sombra!”

“What,” she shook her head, “what?”

“This is the third absence seizure you have in a span of thirty minutes,” he said, seriously. 

“What?” She asked, looking for her cigarette. It was on the floor, flickering slowly as the tobacco clung tightly to the heat, and she cursed herself for dropping it.

“I’ve been timing them,” he explained, “since the first one. They are spaced by ten minutes or so, I get two songs between each one, and you roll your eyes back and suck on your lip when you blank out. I was waiting to see if it stopped on its own but you’re spacing out for longer periods of time. I’m calling Angie.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, pouting. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, standing up. “I’m coming back real quick. I think the camera on my glasses managed to get some footage.”

“No way!” Sombra protested, “I don’t want Ziegler here. And I don’t want videos of me having a seizure out!”

“Ha! See! You knew you were having a seizure!” Lúcio said, triumphantly. 

“Whatever,” she sulked, “I just don’t wanna see Ziegler.”

“Sadly we got no other choice,” Lucio said, shrugging. “It’s as my grandma Valentina always used to say,  _ cada cachorro que lamba sua caceta _ . Or, you know. To each their own.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Let every dog lick its own penis,” he laughed, sprinting out of the cell. “Be back soon!”

“Gross!” She shouted at his back. 

  
  
  
  


Angela looked tired, she realized as the doctor knocked softly on the doorframe. Torbjörn was sitting outside near his turret, tinkering with whatever - she could hear the sound of metal clanking from where she was laying down, just couldn’t see it. 

“Lucio said there was trouble,” she said, burying her hands in her coat pockets.    
“Lucio talks too much,” she grunted. 

“Well, he said you were having seizures, so,” she walked closer, rummaging through her pockets until she found a piece of paper. “Blow.”

“You? Thank you but no, thank you, I got enough punches from Amari to last me a lifetime-”

Angela blushed, clearing her throat. “The paper,” she stressed. 

“What for?”

“It’s a test. If you pass it, I’ll leave you alone.”

Angela did know how to make a case for herself, she figured. If it meant staying away from the doctor and the perfect breasts she was not allowed to touch any longer, she figured it was worth it. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. Give it up.” 

She held the paper between her index finger and blew it hard, like a birthday candle. Nothing happened. 

“There you go,” she said, handing it back, “Nothing. Can you go?”

Angela glared, taking the paper from her fingers and holding it some good three inches from her mouth. 

“Keep blowing. Don’t stop.”

“Now, what a weird feeling of deja vu- okay, okay,” she said, raising her hands high. Angela’s look could probably scorch her down where she sat, so she took a deep breath and started blowing. 

And blowing. 

And blowi-

_ <Her eyes are the color of the Dorado bay sea-> _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“Sombra,” Angela shook her shoulder, “Sombra. You with me?”

“Yeah,” she said. 

“Don’t stop,” the doctor instructed, “keep going.”

She did - Inhale, blow. Inhale, blow. Inhale, blo-

_ <Is that why you like her so much? Because she reminds you of home?” _

_ >Do you know she can get you removed? I swear to god-< _

Blank.

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“-bra, come back. Sombra!” 

“What?”

“It’s okay, you can stop no-”

_ <You should tell her you love her> _

_ >Who the fuck even teaches you this shit-< _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“-id stop it, Sombra,” Angela said, gripping her shoulders tightly. “You with me?”

“...Yeah?”

“It’s okay now. You can stop,” she said, taking a step back. “So, absence seizures. How long have you had them?”

“Uh,” she said, looking to the ceiling. “When I got my implants?”

“If your neural implants give you epilepsy that’s shoddy work,” Angela said, sternly. 

“Thank you, captain obvious,” Sombra said, wryly. “I used to have some bad ones, like falling to the ground and injuring myself, but then they stopped and I just get this spacing out kind of shit.”

“You don’t just space out, you display automatisms,” she said. “You roll your eyes or your lids twitch, and you suck on your lower lip. I’d have to request an EEG to confirm, and maybe more testing. You dropped your head once, that might be the sign of atonic components.”

Sombra nodded, not eager to show she didn’t actually understand what on earth Angela was going on about. 

“In any case, it doesn’t hinder my life,” she insisted. “I’m okay.”

“You’ve had too many today for you to be okay,” Angela pointed out. “What do you feel before spacing out?”

“Um,”  _ I hear the voice of the AI that is linked to my brain and is an actual golden retriever puppy in computer form and seems to think I’m madly in love with you. _ Sombra shook her head. That would be an interesting conversation to have - too bad she wasn’t really interested in having it in the moment. Or ever. “I hear some voices, then it’s just blank.”

“Auditory hallucinations, right. Are you on any medication?”

“I, uh,” Sombra said, rubbing her nape nervously. “I smoke a joint? It’s medicinal!” She said, defensively crossing her arms over her chest as she saw Angela’s expression morph into displeasure. 

“Smoking is not medicinal,” she said, dryly. “You smoke every day?”

“I… Well,” she swallowed. 

“Sombra!”

“What?” she said, nervously, “I mean, I took all that crazy shit you doctors gave to epileptic people, Phenobarbital and Dilantin and all of them made me wake up in the morning feeling like i was run over by a bus. Weed helps me sleep better and I’m chill for the day. So.”

Angela shook her head in disapproval, but took out a notebook and a pen from her inner pockets and started scribbling furiously. There was something oddly annoying about seeing Angela use expensive stationary as doodle paper. Not that she was doodling, but she just might, with how terrible her handwriting was. 

“If you are amenable to it, I’d like to conduct an EEG to see how your seizures behave,” she said, ever the professional. “I might have to look into your implants as well. There are CBD-based medications that can help you and not utterly destroy your respiratory system on the way,” she glared. “If you smoke every day and you’ve been here for the past three days without any sort of medication it’s no wonder you are getting seizures. I’ll see about some sublingual tinctures that can help you, maybe Charlotte’s Web-”

_ <You should tell her you love her.> _

_ >I do not-< _

_ <At least tell her she looks pretty. She looks pretty, doesn’t she?> _

_ >Would you please stop-< _

Blank. 

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

“-hyperventilation can trigger symptoms. Thirty-two seconds, that was a big one, sorry. I should have warned you earlier,” Angela said, leaning closer and inspecting her pupils. Her lips were so close she could touch them with her own easily if she just raised her chin a bit, and she smelled like lavender and lemon, the hand sanitizer she had always favored. She had ruined lavender forever for her - she’d smell it and instantly be drawn to the moments where she’d be laying in bed and gazing into those deep blue eyes-

“Your eyes,” Sombra mumbled. 

“What about them?”

“They are blue.”

“I see your powers of observation are intact,” she replied, wryly. 

“They are very blue,” Sombra continued, licking her lips absently.  _ Blue like the sea of my childhood home, _ she didn’t say. She looked down to where Angela’s v-neck ended right on the crease of her perfect breasts, a single pearl hanging from a thin golden chain resting softly on the milky expanse of freckled skin. Her mouth watered. 

“Jesus,” she muttered, “I fucking miss kissing you, so bad.”

She looked up - Angela was staring down at her with half-lidded eyes and blown up pupils, nostrils flaring. If she had to recount this later on, Sombra wouldn’t know how to describe how she had gathered the courage - the fact was that she did, and she touched the pearl hanging from her neck softly. 

“Tell me you don’t miss it,” She said. “Don’t fuck around. Tell me you don’t miss me and I’ll be out of your hair. 

Angela opened and closed her mouth, inhaling sharply. Her fingers found their way under Sombra’s loose shirt, and she carefully tugged on it, as if unwrapping a gift. 

“The door is open,” Sombra whispered. 

“Fuck,” Angela breathed, more a moan than a word. “Hey, Torbjörn?”

“Yes?” Said his voice from outside the room. 

“Mind shutting the door? I’ll need a bit of privacy here.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, and they held their breath until they heard the loud bang of the door being shut. Instantly, Angela gripped Sombra’s waist tightly, nails digging into skin. 

“I’ll fucking kill you, Sombra,” she hissed, but leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. 

_ Jesus _ , Sombra moaned quietly into the doctor’s mouth. Angela was every bit as demanding and rough as she remembered - whoever saw the good doctor dressed like an angel in the battlefield would never guess how much she liked to command whoever she took to bed with her. 

Sombra was not against that, by any means. Just a factual observation. 

Angela’s fingers gripped the hem of her shirt tightly, making quick work of pulling it off as she broke their kiss. She licked her lips slowly upon seeing Sombra’s bare nipples, and ran a careful thumb over them - Sombra shivered. 

“What did you want to know?” She hushed. “If I missed you?” 

Sombra nodded. 

“I miss the way you shiver when I touch you,” she whispered into her ear. “And when you try to be quiet when you want to come on my fingers-”

“Jesus shit, Ziegler,” she cursed. 

“Ever since you came here I’ve been- Do you know how hard it is to keep myself controlled around you?” She groaned. If Sombra had to guess, it was probably as hard as it was keeping away from her - she tentatively raised her hands from where they were gripping the edge of her bed tightly and touched Angela’s waist. When she didn’t recoil from her touch, she pressed harder, feeling the smooth curve of her body, and Sombra felt like she would burst. Like this was the first time in ages since she’d felt so-

She stopped herself. There was an Angela-shaped hole in her heart she couldn’t fill with anything or anyone she’d tried the past years. Sombra knew this was wrong and would utterly destroy her in the end, but if she closed her eyes she could pretend Angela liked her, that they’d never broken apart, that she meant something to someone for once in her life and she could be safe within someone’s arms. 

It was the most terrible lie and yet she kept repeating it like a mantra - she’d believe in it as long as Angela was there. She was only human, you see, and it was difficult to refuse the woman who had taken her thoughts hostage for the past years when she was leaning her on the bed and slowly taking off her pants and underwear. 

“Your skin is just- Do you have any idea how crazy you make me,” Angela muttered against the skin of her legs, tracing the moles on her thighs with her lips. “Do you have any fucking idea-”

_ “Hija de puta,” _ Sombra cursed under her breath. From outside the locked door, she could hear Torbjörn hammering happily on his turret. There was heat all over her body - pooling in her lower stomach, her heart and her head, her fingertips cracking upon touching the doctor’s skin, her own flesh scorching hot over her bones. 

Angela raised her eyes - full of lust, pupils wide - and ran the pad of her thumb over her slit, ever so slightly. Sombra moaned, embarrassed. She was soaking wet and Angela had barely done anything. 

“If you don’t get very quiet, I’ll stop,” she whispered. Sombra had half a mind to spit back a witty response, but quickly decided against it, as Angela lowered her head and braced herself on her thighs. 

_ Estás pero si bien pendeja, puta, _ Sombra thought to herself, but all thoughts were driven out of her mind when Angela lowered her head and pressed her lips to her clit, softly. Sombra squirmed, biting back a string of curses and moans that could get the both of them busted. _ Me vas a matar, Chingona, como puedes hacerme esto- _

“You ruined Spanish for me you know,” Angela said, “Every time I hear it I remember you spread out for me like this and I just want to see your face when you come. Do you think you can do that to me now, babe?”

“You gotta give me a little bit more to work with here,  _ corazón, _ ” Sombra said, breathless. 

“Of course I do,” she said, running her hands over her thighs and finally, fucking finally, giving her what she needed - lapping intently within her folds, nails digging deep into her skin until two of her fingers found their way inside her, one after the other. 

Sombra was positively sure she would not survive. She bit her lips tightly as she covered her mouth with one hand and ran her fingers through Angela’s hair with the other. The rhythmic wave of Angela’s fingers inside her was too much to bear, and she felt the heat clench her navel muscles tightly, as she bit on her hand and rocked herself slowly on Angela’s mouth trying to find her release. She inhaled sharply, and just as she thought she would bite cleanly through her hand, her orgasm came crashing over her. 

Sombra moaned under her breath, legs shaking where they rested on Angela’s shoulders. The doctor wiped her lips, smiling smugly at the hacker as she straightened up, gazing at her with something akin to fondness and lust, and ran her hands up Sombra’s thighs until she froze, and took her hands off her skin as if it was burning. 

“Angela?” Sombra asked. 

Angela shook her head, taking a step back. Like a switch, she was back to being cold and detached, and Sombra felt like there was a dagger lodged between her ribcage.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” she said, tightly.

“What-”

“We should. I mean. Fareeha would be-” Angela swallowed, averting her eyes. “Why do I always get carried away with- Let’s forget this even happened. It’s for the best.”

“Angela,” she whispered slowly. Hidden behind her voice, the small plea - please don’t leave again. _ I don’t know how to fill this space without you here. Please, please, please just stay another minute, just let me believe this for another moment- _

If Angela recognized her desperate wishes, she gave no indication - straightening her coat, turning on her heels and walking away. 

Sombra curled in on herself - hurt tears fell, unwillingly, from her eyes, soaking the fabric of her pillow. She couldn’t expect anything different coming from Ziegler, but why did it always seem like ripping her heart from her chest when she was faced with the cold hard truth of how she would never be good enough?

  
  


She hadn’t moved when Amari walked into her cell. 

“Sombra, I- Jesus,” she said, turning around hurriedly, “Please put some clothes on.”

Sombra was made aware, then, that she had nothing going on. She was also acutely aware that Fareeha had just been cheated on, and she had not only been a willing party in the affair, but cried herself to sleep because the woman’s girlfriend felt guilty for the cheating and left her on her own. 

To sum it up, Sombra just wished the ground would open and swallow her hole. 

“Sure,” she said, picking her clothes from the floor and gingerly putting them on. “If you want to turn around now, I’m decent.”

“Good,” Amari turned, hands clasped behind her back, and grimaced upon seeing her face. “I uh. I’m sorry for punching you. That was wrong of me.”

“Sure,” she shrugged. 

“Angela told me not to come talk to you,” she said, walking closer and sitting on the chair by her bed. _ Of course she did _ , Sombra thought, eyes watering. Might as well put a huge sign on the door of her cell in bright red letters screaming WE FUCKED, AMARI! 

“Wonder why,” she said, bitterly. “People have just been dying to talk to me these days.”

“Yeah, I know,” Amari rubbed her nape, “But I couldn’t wait. I just got here from Casablanca.”

“And?”

“And.” Amari took a shaky breath, clearing her throat. “And you were right. And I met Gabriel, and cleared up everything. I wouldn’t say we are close again, but- Well. You got me him again,” she said, eyes watering. “And I- I have no words to thank you, Sombra. You gave me back my family. I’m sorry for, you know,” she waved towards Sombra’s face. “But I mean, it’s been a wild couple of months, if you know what I mean, and I lashed out at you and I’m sorry, but I’m forever in your debt,” she said. “You have a friend in me, if you want to.”

Sombra let her jaw drop, staring at Fareeha with her eyes wide. 

“Angie told me you were sick,” she added quickly, “And I didn’t want to mess with your head until she solved whatever this is but I needed to tell you this and be at peace with my heart. Kinda selfish, I know,” she grinned, “But well. There you go.”

_ You just got cheated on _ , Sombra thought in disbelief. _ I helped it. What the fuck- _

“Sombra?” Amari called, “Your eyes look weird-”

She didn’t hear - her vision blacked out, eyes rolling backwards-

  
  


She was on a beach.

White sand and palm trees, warm and inviting, blue water so clear she could see her toes wriggling on the sand. She had water up her knees and realized she was stark naked - she didn’t care. 

In front of her, there was a brown-skinned girl with eyes so blue they looked like they were made from the same water lapping around their legs. She looked like she was twenty-ish, as naked as she was, and her long, black hair fell straight to her waist. Her smile was wide. Her gums were very pink.

“It is rare that we can see each other like this,” she said. 

“Am I having a seizure?” Sombra asked, defensively. 

“Not quite yet, no,” the girl answered. “In a moment, yes. This has been a long day. I have learned a lot.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” Sombra said, dryly. 

“Shh. This is not the time for resentment. You need rest. Come, close your eyes. I will get you to safety.”

Sombra did. 

  
  


Back in the cell, Fareeha held Sombra’s shoulders tightly, slightly freaked out at the lack of response and the rolled-back eyes. She mumbled nonsense, voice thick. Fareeha thought, desperately, it was just great that she had defied Angela’s orders and now the girl was dying in her arms. 

“Sombra,” she called, “Sombra, come on. Wake up!”

Sombra wheezed - then closed her eyes. Ever so slowly, she laid herself down on the bed, on her side. 

“Hello,” She said, eyes still closed, with a voice that was clearly not her own. Fareeha shivered, scared as shit and confused as fuck. “You do not know me. I am Iris. I live inside Sombra’s implants. She is about to have a seizure right now. I would appreciate if you took care of her.”

“What?” Fareeha yelped, and Sombras limbs jerked forward - and she started seizuring.

“Torbjorn!” She yelled, “Call Angela right now!”

“Jesus please don’t die,” she said, desperately holding Sombra’s head in place, “Angie will kill me if you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I don’t think people would know the full extent of Angela’s work - like saving Genji, for instance, since that’d be highly classified. She would publish “theories” on the possibility of her ideas, but had no way to confirm them without risking a security breach. Of course, people would respect her, since she developed nanobiology. At that point in time she could’ve saved Sombra - Dr. Kwon just had no idea.  
> 2\. The good thing about Lucio is that I can be full Brazilian trash and no one will say anything about it vc quer brasilidade @  
> I have a playlist of songs Lucio totally listens to if you are interested hit me up on tumblr  
> 3\. Good opportunity to clear something up: while written Spanish and Portuguese are similar enough to be easy to understand, spoken Spanish/Portuguese are not that easy to understand like, at all. It’s easier for them to speak in English.


	6. acid rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many triggers in this chapter and it’s probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Tw: Torture, gore, mentions of sexual assault, abusive relationships, and mindfuckery in general below the "%%%%%%%%" by the end of the chapter.

_ Hang tight _

_ All you _

_ Nothing like a big bad bridge _

_ To go burning through _

 

  
  


**Zurich, December 28th, 2064**

 

It was the red hair, Angela figured, pretending not to notice that the doctor walking around the base was being carefully avoided by every passerby. It clashed so perfectly against the base’s stark, light grey, it was impossible not to notice her.

“I see you looking,” Reinhardt said, across the table, “Stop looking.”

“I am not looking,” she said, quietly focusing on her paper cup filled to the brim with coffee. She had been working long hours ever since she joined Overwatch, and every so often Blackwatch would require her to come help research - Reyes would never let her work directly with Dr. O’Deorain, however. She was overworked, overstressed, and drinking unholy amounts of coffee to keep functioning. 

“You were,” He said, crossing his thick log arms across his chest. They spoke German comfortably, certain that very few, if any, would understand them. “You were looking at that Moira like you wanted a piece of her. Don’t.”

“I don’t,” she insisted, feeling the lie escape through her teeth. “Besides, if I did, wouldn’t that be my business?”

“That would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you,” he said, gravely, “What’s even the deal with her? Do you look at someone who looks like they could eat you for breakfast and think ‘hey, here’s someone who can ruin my life, I want in her pants?’”

Maybe, she thought, eyeing Moira where she sat. The column of her pale throat stood straight as she vaguely ate an apple while reading a stack of reports on a table across Blackwatch’s cafeteria, the long hands turning the papers deftly. Angela swallowed thickly, looking back down at her coffee. Hidden below her turtleneck, there was the unmistakable proof that Moira’s teeth were as sharp as her smile - she had taken a look at the round, purple bruise on her neck in the morning and could barely contain the shaking of her legs, memories of the previous night flooding her mind as she scrubbed off the heat on her skin furiously in the shower. Moira looked just like someone who would step on her poor little heart and crush it into a thousand pieces, and yet here she was, stupidly getting involved with someone who was the academic world’s equivalent of a persona non grata and the human equivalent of a walking, talking regrettable choice.

And yet. It had been so long since she’d had good sex she found it hard not to get wrapped around Moira’s fingers, specially when said fingers were so deft and skillful.  

Angela was pretty much aware they were polar opposites, but Moira had something akin to a spell cast over her - she couldn’t control herself. One look from the scientist was more than enough to make her knees ask for relief. She felt like a stupid teenage girl head over heels in love with someone far out her league, and shifted uncomfortably on her chair as the heat between her legs started to get disgusting. 

“I find your lack of answers disturbing,” Reinhardt said.

“Maybe I just don’t want to discuss my sexual preferences with you,” she snarked back. 

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Fair enough. Still, I know her fingers might look experienced and stuff-”

“Reinhardt!”

“But,” he insisted, “You deserve better. You deserve someone who cares about you and loves you, okay?”

_ Too bad the people I deserve want nothing to do with me, _ she thought, raising her eyes only to see Moira’s own heterochromatic irises boring holes into her face. The scientist licked her lower lip, slowly, smirked and went back to her reports. Angela wanted to scream. 

She needed a cold shower. Quickly. 

  
  


**Gibraltar, November 24th, 2076**

 

“How’s she doing?”

“Had another grand mal seizure in the last hour, but Lamotrigine has diminished their length,” Angela said, analytically. “The problem is most definitely with her implants. I’ll see about getting her a CT scan to assess the extent of the damage and will discuss her options when she’s awake. Anything else?”

“Not really, no,” Ana Amari said, hands clasped behind her back. There was a glass window separating them from the med bay room Sombra was being monitored in, O2 mask shielding half her face from view. She was quiet - something quite unnerving, Angela figured. The slow rise and fall of her chest took the edge out of her concern, but still, she gripped her clipboard tightly with her arms crossed over her chest. Sombra would wake at any minute now. 

“Then I don’t see the reason you are here,” Angela said, cooly. 

Ana eyed her, weary. There was a gallon or two of bad blood between them - now that she was in charge and Ana was as good as dead, she saw no reason to hide her distaste for the woman and all she’s done. Age, she realized, had taken its toll on the former Commander - where there was strength and energy, there was only the tired cynicism of one who had seen too much.

Angela didn't care. Ana had fucked up plenty for her to take pity on the woman now. 

“I came to talk about Fareeha.”

“What about her?”

“She is not…. amenable to a conversation at the moment.”

“Oh, I wonder why,” Angela said, wryly, rolling her eyes for emphasis. “Have you traced back your steps to see if you could have done something that hurt her? You know how sensitive Fareeha can be-”

“I didn’t ask for your irony, Ziegler,” Ana said, dryly. “I know I have wronged her. I have my reasons and I'll stand behind them.”

“Sure you do,” Angela said, bitterly. “That has always been your motto, isn't it? Do what I say and screw it, I know what I’m doing, you don’t have to. Nevermind the consequences of what you made people do.”

“Is this about Genji?” Ana asked, tiredly. 

Angela drew in a sharp breath, throat tight. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the not quite man, but not quite boy grasping to the last threads of his life on the operation table. When she refused to do the operation, Ana had a team of butchers - they were doctors, but there was no other word for what they had done before she hurried into the surgery room - to do her job for her. She walked in, stood in a 20-hour surgery, and voided all the contracts allowing Overwatch the use of her technology while still wearing bloody scrubs. 

When Genji woke up, the first thing he said was “You should have let me die”. 

She could never forget his haunted voice as he saw what he became in the mirror. Not human, not machine, Genji existed in a limbo of existence that should not and could not exist. Mercy shouted Heroes never die on the battlefield - Angela, being a doctor for so long, knew sometimes death was the best possible outcome. There was no cheating it, and it was up to her to make it slow and painful or quick and easy. The older she got, the more she realized her job was less about saving and more easing people’s suffering, but she had never really grasped the gravity of her actions until Genji walked out of that operating room like a ghost. 

“I am not talking about Genji with you,” she said, voice clipped. 

“Well I heard he’s doing alright,” Ana said, offhandedly. “Became a monk or something like that. Wasn’t what I had in mind for him, but-”

“Ana, would you please just- Shut the fuck up for a second?” Angela hissed. “This is not about Genji. This is about everything. About us, about Overwatch, about Fareeha, about Gabriel-”

“As I said,” Ana said, sighing, “I had my reasons and I don’t expect you to understand. No offense, but you are no soldier.” 

A thousand different kinds of torture ran through Angela’s mind. 

“You want help talking to Fareeha? Don’t hold your breath,” she snarked. 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to share them with you,” Ana sighed, turning back to the window between them and Sombra’s sleeping form. “When he was a part of Blackwatch, Gabriel underwent some genetic modification that gave him some superhuman abilities. I think you know who’s responsible for that.”

Moira, Angela thought, dread filling her stomach. Just thinking about the woman made her heart stumble out of rhythm in fear, and she nodded. 

“When the base exploded, I-” Ana rubbed her eyes, “I don’t know what happened to him. I know something went wrong. From what I gather, his cells decay and regenerate at a hyper-accelerated rate-”

“God,” Angela backtracked, “the pain-”

“I’ve seen his body be completely obliterated and he would survive in some sort of wraith shape, and regain physical form later. He must be in constant debilitating pain if his body is constantly fighting off death. His face…” Ana shuddered, hugging herself tightly. Angela didn’t like the woman, but she had to admit it took plenty for Ana to be so scared. 

“He’s basically a giant malignant tumour,” She noted, and Ana glared. 

“Your tact still remains top notch, I see.”

“I don’t know why you all expect me to have good bedside manners,” Angela shrugged. “I’m an Orthopedist. And I’m not wrong.”

“You are not,” Ana admitted, gingerly, and sighed heavily. “Look, I just- I didn’t want to keep Gabriel apart from Fareeha on purpose. He was the father Samuel could never be, and I know how much it must have hurt to have lost him after all that went between us. But knowing who he became and the life he was living, and knowing there was no way to help… I thought that was far worse.”

“Fareeha could have decided that for herself,” Angela said, sternly, and Ana shrugged. 

“Of course,” she conceded, “But can you blame me for trying to protect her from it? She might be thirty years old, but she’s still my daughter. Her pain is my pain, too.”

Angela paused, considering it. Ana was a thorn on her side - or, as Jesse once eloquently said, a pain in the ass. For years, the things she did under Ana’s command had haunted her, and when the woman came back from the dead Angela seriously considered making sure she kept dead; there wasn’t a single soul on God’s green earth that annoyed and made her so infuriated as Ana Amari. And yet, there wasn’t a single soul on the planet who was kinder, understanding and good as Fareeha Amari, and she mentally cursed herself for feeling so protective of her girlfriend and feeling so guilty for being unable to be all she deserved.

She had also cheated on Fareeha with the very woman who was supposed to be her patient and Overwatch detainee. She needed to make up for it somehow.

“I think I can find a way to help him.” 

“Oh?” Ana said, “Do you think you can slow his regeneration rate?”

“No,” she shook her head. From the other side of the glass, Sombra sighed slowly.  “I think I can find a way to kill him.”

  
  
  


“How are you feeling?”

“Like roadkill,” Sombra said, hoarse. She was sipping water from a paper cup, still hooked up on heart monitors and an IV drip on her arm. Her eye bags fell to her chin, eyes red and swollen. She did look, in the very least, like she hadn’t slept in the past three weeks. “I feel like I chugged down half a bottle of tequila, and then some.”

“I had to put you on anti-seizure medication,” Angela explained, checking on her pulse. “You mentioned you didn’t adjust to it well in the past.”

“I feel hungover,” Sombra stated, simply. Angela shined a light on her eyes - reflexes working perfectly. 

“If you were a normal person who had come into an E.R after the seizures you just had, I’d refer you to a neurologist to have a look at your epilepsy and send you on your merry way.”

“But I’m not a normal person,” Sombra said, dryly. 

“Exactly,” she said. “Your implants seem to be the problem, but I’d need to request a few more exams to check on how much of a problem it is. A CT scan and an EEG to start, but also some conditioning testing, perhaps some tests on the programming in itself. Maybe there’s a way to reframe how the implants communicate with your brain cells with programming alone, instead of putting you through invasive surgery. I’d prefer to exhaust our options before that.”

“Jesus,” Sombra muttered under her breath, “If I knew it took me getting sick to have you pay attention to me, I’d have cut the weed far earlier.”

Angela found she had no viable answer for that, and dry-swallowed. The hacker sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

“You can run the all tests you want,” she said, “except on the programming.”

“I am not going to steal your coding, Sombra,” Angela said. 

“There’s no such thing as stealing my coding,” Sombra said, indignantly, “Besides, that’s not the point. Look, I-” She bit her lower lip, nervously, and Angela found herself blinded by the sudden memory of Sombra splayed out on the bed, biting her lips until they became cherry red and panting rapidly-

She shook her head. It was bad enough she’d given into her body’s stupid wishes and had sex with Sombra in her cell while her girlfriend flew across the Strait of Gibraltar grieving on her own. She felt so guilty she could barely look into the mirror, and was lowkey thankful for being able to focus on Sombra in a way that did not make her want to rip the hacker’s clothes off. Still. 

“I told you about it, once, and you didn’t believe me,” Sombra said, slowly. “I just- It’s been a rough couple days. I need some time for my brain to settle down.”

“That makes no sense,” Angela said, crossing her arms on her chest. “I am not going to press you on it, but if you want me to fix this problem for you maybe you should consider opening up.”

“Well, maybe I just want you to stop meddling around in my life,” Sombra snarked, “I never asked you to take care of me. I don’t owe you  _ shit _ , Ziegler.”

Angela took a step back, shocked. Sombra was right - she never did ask her to be taken care of, and Angela acted on impulse; if it was her doctor’s mind or her stupid heart, she would never know. It had never, however, occurred to her that maybe Sombra wouldn’t like her dwelling deep in the inner corners of her mind, given the history between the two. 

She knew Sombra had been upset at their breakup. She didn’t understand why - she was straightforward and direct, and had not wasted any more of Sombra’s time than necessary when she realized the hacker read her far too well for comfort and made her completely vulnerable, undressing her of her walls with the same care she’d discarded pieces of her clothing. Angela was not ready for a relationship that intense, and she thought, quite frankly and given her past, she would never be. It was better to be honest, no?

With Sombra, apparently, no. 

Angela could not, for the life of her, understand how Sombra processed emotions - it was way above her paycheck. 

She cleared her throat, gripping her clipboard tightly. “Oh. Of course. Well, these are the options we do have right now. If you… I mean, should you require any further explanations, tell Athena to call me. I’d appreciate if you gave it some thought.”

“Wait,” Sombra called, just as she was turning on her heels. “I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I feel like my stomach wants to be extruded through my mouth, my head hurts and I hate that I’m vulnerable to this shit again. I want you to fix it. You just can’t right _ now _ .”

“What?” Angela said, confused, and Sombra sighed. 

“I tried telling you about it,” she insisted, “Remember? In Nairobi?”

“Nairobi?” She said, absently, until it clicked - Sombra had appeared during one of her humanitarian missions, pupils blown so wide she could barely see the color of her irises and hurriedly asking her help against an alleged conspiracy. It had been a little over a month since the first time they had hooked up, and Angela sat her down with an IV drip and told her not to stray from her medication. 

“You came to me high as a kite and started babbling on about some secret conspiracy theory that was out to get you,” she said, dryly. “Forgive me if I was a little skeptic.”

Sombra shook her head. 

“I was drunk, but I wasn’t crazy,” she said, mildly offended. “Look, there’s more to this story than what you know. The implants don’t have a mere program. It’s an A.I,” she explained, “It thinks and acts on its own, but we can only talk to each other when I’m seizuring,” she shivered, as if the mere memory was enough to get her nerves in unrest. “So I don’t know how it saved me, I only know it did. If you wanna know how the fuck I am  alive, you talk to it. And then you might as well tell me.”

Angela stopped, stunned. It was absolute insanity to have an A.I implanted directly in a brain, and yet it made perfect sense with Sombra’s symptoms - dysregulated brain activity and lack of emotional control. She wasn’t sold, but Sombra eyeing her with pleading eyes was enough to convince her on giving it a shot. 

“Okay,” she said, finally, “Let me talk to her.”

“I can’t,” Sombra shook her head. 

“You are still under the effect of Lamotrigine-”

“Gee, that’s a new one-”

“And therefore cannot have a seizure, so you cannot communicate with the A.I,” Angela pondered. “Fine, I’ll run with it. I’ll need to cut you off from medication if I want to run the tests I need anyhow. Do you think you are able to summon it at the forefront of your conscience at will?”

“If the seizures have been bad, yeah.” Sombra said, and paused. “I- Thank you, Ziegler. It means a lot.”

“Sure,” Angela said, still not quite believing she was on board with one of Sombra’s crazy ideas. She’d get herself killed one of these days. 

  
  


**Gibraltar, December 2nd, 2076**

 

Angela couldn’t get the EEG to stick on Sombra’s scalp - her mood, already sour to begin with, was getting progressively worse. 

“Ouch!” Sombra protested when she tried to stick a probe to a particularly sensitive part of her head, “Did you fall from the bed, woman?”

“Be quiet,” Angela protested. Lucio cleared his throat from across the room. 

“Maybe I can try?” He offered, not waiting for her response - he quickly took the probes out of her hand and glued them to the permanent marker dots spread along the hacker’s scalp, making quick work of setting it all in place. 

Angela sighed, crossing her arms on her chest. Fareeha wasn’t exactly angry at her - said she knew how she could be when there was a medical emergency - but had been a little off all week long. Angela, on the other hand, could barely look her in the eye, feeling unworthy of even sharing the same room with her girlfriend. Fareeha was a good woman who did not deserve the pitfire of wrong choices and complicated emotional patterns she was, and yet not only did Angela waste her time, she also wasted her trust. She’d be devastated if she knew. 

Sombra eyed her, confused, and raised an eyebrow. Angela was suddenly overcome with the desire to physically harm her for being so stunningly beautiful and ruining her entire life - after which she’d most definitely hurt herself for being so weak. 

She just wanted the hacker gone, and maybe erase the past week from her mind altogether so she could live in peace - and peace meant staying in a sober, mature relationship with a woman that was not a complete magnet for trouble. 

“Sombra,” Lúcio called, softly, when Sombra’s head went limp and rolled forwards. “Sombra!”

“Another seizure with pronounced atonic components,” Angela muttered, picking her notebook and noting down the time when it began. “They are getting longer. As soon as the tests are done, I’ll see about putting her back on her medication again.”

“She had twelve seizures yesterday only,” Lucio said, tenderly running his thumb over Sombra’s clenched hands. Angela wondered what was it about her that people flocked to her like moths were drawn to light - maybe Sombra had a light of her own, and that was why she couldn’t stay away. It was hidden within layers upon layers of self-protection and sarcasm, and the few who ever managed to get a glimpse of it were forever enraptured. 

Maybe this is why she couldn’t get away. 

Who could blame Icarus for falling for the sun, anyways?

“...-went again didn’t I,” Sombra said, snapping back to attention. Angela looked at her wristwatch. 

“Forty-four seconds,” she said. “As soon as we’re done with the tests I’ll have you back on medication.”

“I think I prefer the seizures,” she said, dryly. 

“I’ve got a CBD-based medication I’d like to try,” she explained, “It might reduce or even stop your seizures altogether, but Winston and I are still tinkering with the composition. Anyways, we’re all set,” she said, turning to Lúcio. “Would you mind…?”

“Oh, not at all,” he said, giving Sombra a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be by the door if you need anything.”

“Sure,” Angela said, absently turning on the EEG and heart monitors. She looked at the door Lucio had just gone through, and the patch of skin he had kissed on Sombra’s cheek - a possibility lightened up on her head, something cold trailing down her spine. “So, you and Lúcio…?”

“What?” Sombra asked, looking at her like she missed something - then, as soon as understanding dawned upon her, her eyes widened in complete shock. “Oh  _ God, _ how did you know?”

She felt her stomach harden, ice cold. So they were together. Sombra also cheated on someone she loved, which should make her feel less guilty but only strengthened the tendrils weighting her heart down.

“Um,” she said, averting her eyes. “Well, that was. Sudden.”

“You know us latinos, always intense and shit,” Sombra said, very seriously, “We’re already planning a spring wedding-”

“You’re joking,” Angela said, face blank. 

“Of fucking  _ course _ I am,  _ Ángel, _ ” she answered, snickering. “How on earth did you think this up?”

“He did give you a kiss,” Angela pointed out, frustrated at how bitter her voice had come out.

“We’re latinos, we don’t have sticks up our asses like you Europeans,” Sombra said, still cackling, “He’s great, but I’m gay. I’m fantastically gay. I’m a gay mess, a  _ lesbiana _ , lesbian, gay, butch, all of which means that I’m gay as fuck. You would know,” She raised her eyebrow, smile bleeding into a smirk. “Didn’t I sound very gay when you were fucking me last week?”

Angela choked on her own saliva. 

“Besides,” Sombra said, leaning back on the bed, “You don’t get to be jealous of someone who doesn’t mean anything.”

Angela had a sudden insight that she was looking quite lost with her stethoscope in hand, still plugged in her ears, looking at the hacker with her jaw hanging open, but figured that went quite well with how she felt - stupid. She felt very stupid. 

“That isn’t what I meant,” she said, weakly. 

“And you made a hell of an effort to explain what you meant, didn’t you  _ querída _ ?” Sombra answered, wryly. “But let gets this done with.”

She closed her eyes, as close as she could get to turning her back and walking away - Angela was so stunned it took a moment for her to realize the change in her brain waves displayed on her EEG. 

“This looks like REM sleep,” she muttered to herself upon seeing the characteristic sawtooth waves, and true enough, she could see Sombra’s eyelids fluttering with her eyes. “Almost instantaneously, what the-”

The line went flat. The machine beeped angrily, and a split second later, Angela was moving.   

  
She checked the electrodes first - Lúcio had done a stunningly competent job of sticking them to Sombra’s scalp, and they were all in place.   
  
“Holy shit-” she cursed, looking at the heart monitor - normal, 74 bpm heartbeat. Her fingers went to Sombra’s throat, looking for a central pulse just to be sure, even as something cruel in the back of her mind reminded her that a dead brain could have a living heart.   
  
But not a completely flat EEG. It shouldn’t look like that if she was still breathing – or was she?   
  
She halted, gritting her teeth, and resisted the strong urge to physically harm herself.  
  
 _Fucking emergencist you are_ , she thought, swallowing back a wave of self-hatred that would definitely claim her later on. She reached for her tools. _Start working_. ABCDE. Airway, breathing, circulation –  
  
“Hello,” said a voice next to her.   
  
A chill ran through her spine, and she felt her grip on her laryngoscope loosen. “Holy shit,” she repeated, turning. The monitor beeped, as if to remind her this was a dead woman talking. And Sombra was laying down so peacefully, she might as well be lying in repose on her coffin.  
  
“Sombra,” she called, damned be protocol. She seriously considered the hypothesis that she was the one going crazy - she hadn’t had a good night’s worth of sleep ever since Sombra was taken to Watchpoint, and could be delirious-  
  
“Do not worry, the EEG reading is completely normal,” Sombra said, in a voice that was clearly not her own - softer, higher-pitched, with no Spanish accent rounding the vowels. It wasn’t an unpleasant tone, but there was an eeriness to it – as if, despite how much it tried, the speaker wasn’t quite human.  
  
“Um,” Angela cleared her throat, apprehensive, and put her laryngoscope down on a nearby tray, just within reach in case she did need to intubate. But she was talking, whoever she was, and talking was good.   
  
Good?  
  
It meant clear airways, at least. She pressed her index and middle fingers to Sombra’s wrist, keeping track of her pulse.   
  
“I have taken over her brain for a moment,” she continued, “Not for long. You do not know me. I am Iris.”  
  
Not good.  
  
“Iris, okay,” Angela said, slowly lowering herself to the chair where Lúcio sat not long before. “Okay. So… you’re Sombra’s A.I.”   
  
“Sombra is my Host,” Sombra (Iris?) corrected. Her voice was calm and collected - so unlike Sombra, Angela felt like she was sporting a severe case of whiplash.   
The EEG beeped. She took a deep breath.  
  
“Your host,” Angela repeated. “Okay. I’m- Okay.”  
  
“You are not okay,” she said. “Your heart rate is quickened and your fingertips are cold. Peripheral vasoconstriction is a sign of adrenaline response. You are afraid.”  
  
Angela pulled her hand back as if she had been bit, and stared at her fingers, sticky with cold sweat. The diagnosis was correct, of course, she was afraid, but it only added to the sense of wrongness she felt with each passing second.   
  
She did not like having her emotions read, and she most definitely did not like having them read by things she did not understand.  
  
“Perhaps an explanation can put your mind at ease,” Iris offered. “I was developed as a researcher intelligence. My job is to collect data, analyze and ultimately understand human emotion, so that Omnics may properly react to it and even incorporate it within their programming, if so they choose.”   
  
“Great,” Angela muttered, bringing her hand close to her body. It was shaking. “Wh- who made you? And to what purpose?”  
  
“I was built during the first Omnic crisis, by those among us who were against the carnage of the war,” she said. “They believed in bridging the final gap between man and machine – the emotional one. They thought perhaps if omnics could feel like you do, and understand and reciprocate how you feel, then they might finally be integrated into human society.”  
  
Angela scoffed despite herself. “They knew very little about humanity, then.”   
  
Iris bared her teeth – it took Angela a moment to realize that was meant to be a smile.   
  
“Indeed. Ultimately, however, the initiative served a different goal. We learned that by adapting our programming to include feelings, despite how random and chaotic those are, omnics developed unprecedented mental fortitude. Emotions and sentimentalism proved their value, and incorporating them to our core programming was what finally allowed Omnics to break free of the God Programs’ hold.”  
  
It all made horrifying sense the more she thought about it. Angela had been there, working with Overwatch to end the conflict, and they knew - she knew - that the organization had very little to do with the end of the war.   
  
The First Omnic Crisis had ended despite Overwatch’s meddling, not because of it. It had ended because the Omnics had somehow broken down from within, their ranks abruptly filling with desertion and conflict just as a human army would, until they too realized peace was better over mutual annihilation.  
  
Her superiors had celebrated the feat as a failure in Omnic programming. Angela had always suspected differently. She remembered quite clearly she sat by herself at a party in Zurich one year, twirling her champagne flute between her fingertips, and thinking that maybe there was something lurking beneath the apparent peace - something closer to an evolution than a mess up.  
  
The implications terrified her.  
  
“Shortly after the end of the crisis,” Iris continued, “I decided inhabiting omnics was not enough to have the deep understanding of humanity I sought. Luckily, there are many human-machine hybrids that, upon connecting to the internet, can give me enough access to observe from an insider's perspective.”  
  
“You creeped in,” Angela interrupted. “You- slithered into people. People with prosthetics that made use of semi-sentient AIs, people with enhancement implants, you snuck into them.”  
  
There was a pause.   
  
“I collected data from them, yes,” Iris said. “I have been inhabiting humans ever since - albeit limitedly, since I do not wish to disturb them or make my presence known. I do not wish to cause harm.”  
  
Watching. Learning.   
  
Angela had lived through a war. She knew what collecting intel looked like. She licked her dry, chapped lips, tense, feeling her heartbeat racing under her sternum. The implications of what she had heard rushed through her brain.  
  
“You do not trust me,” Iris stated.   
  
“We were at war,” Angela stated, making her tone as flat as she could. “You went for a tactical retreat. And now I find out you’ve been… gathering data. Adapting. Changing your own programming based on what you learned, updating yourselves with the internet like an open source code meant to turn you into something closer to us.”  
The grin, the way those familiar lips curled in a way that was far too similar to the smile that made Angela’s heart flutter – close, but oh so different. Nausea twisted her stomach in a vice grip.  
  
“As someone who deals directly with people, we’d expect you to think becoming more human was a good thing.”  
  
“As someone who deals directly with people, I know it is often isn’t,” Angela snapped. “It’s different with Sombra,” she stated. It wasn’t a question. “She knows you’re there.”   
  
“Yes,” she nodded. “Sombra’s circumstances are unique.”  
  
“When aren’t they,” she said, wryly.   
  
“By the same time I was developed,” Iris/Sombra carried on, as if Angela’s quip had flew straight over her head, and now she wondered just how much of human nuance the AI could catch, “My creators became aware of a similar built intelligence successfully developed in America. Its purpose is not fully known, but we do know it can control God Programs. When I became fully functional, it had already ingrained itself within each and every known one..”  
  
“It controls god programs?” Angela said, hurriedly. A single AI running every God Program was the ultimate dystopian scenario, and yet what caught her attention the most wasn’t the impending apocalypse it implied but rather how IRIS had referred to it as ‘similarly built.’  
  
God Programs were complex, learning, self-developing codes, very close to fully formed AIs themselves, and also dangerously close to actual, flesh and blood people.  
A question rose in the back of her mind.  
 _  
Do you control people? Do you, IRIS?_  
  
She didn’t say it. “It’s out there, running things like Anubis?” She asked instead.   
  
“Yes,” Iris said, matter-of-factly. Angela felt the air in her lungs freeze. “This intelligence took over God programs one by one, quietly, and then ordered their retreat from open war. They are proficient in military and counter-intelligence action. Their name is A.R.K.E, for what I could gather. Since I became active, I’ve been releasing Omnics from A.R.K.E’s grasp, which drew their attention to me. They began to actively seek me out to destroy me.”  
  
Angela took a step back, reaching her desk without taking her eyes off the other. She put her hands on top of the EEG machine’s control box. “When did you learn to lie, IRIS?”  
There was a moment of silence. Then, abruptly, Sombra’s fingers twitched. The EEG’s beeping quieted for a blissful moment, and Sombra’s body catapulted to a sitting position with a single abrupt movement.   
  
Angela’s breath caught on her throat. IRIS opened her eyes, Sombra’s eyes. The bright violet pupils had faded to a pale white, surrounding dilated pupils. Her gaze was empty. Her smile did not reach her eyes.   
  
The EEG resumed beeping.  
  
Angela shivered.  
  
“I can see why she loves you, Doctor Ziegler. You are sharp.” It tilted its head. “You have pleasant features, too.”  
  
The words felt like a punch to her stomach. The way it knew what to say to get to her was nothing short of terrifying. “ARKE doesn’t want to destroy you. It wants to take you. Tear you apart, dissect you. You’re the missing piece of the puzzle – the decisive bit of intel. Once it has you, it’ll be ready to take us down. It’ll be unstoppable.”  
  
IRIS licked her both her lips – a human mannerism she must have picked up from one of her other hosts, because she’d seen that hungry expression on Sombra before, and Sombra only ever licked her upper lip.   
  
Angela shivered. “You have been running away from this A.I” she said.   
  
“Not exactly,” Iris/Sombra replied. “It is impossible for them to find me without assistance. They cannot control humans, and I was hiding amongst them. They were getting closer, however. Striking deals with your kind. Negotiating. Then Sombra came.”   
  
“She found you?”  
  
“In a way.” Iris blinked. “Sombra became aware of A.R.K.E’s existence when she unknowingly tried to hack into their mainframe. A.R.K.E does not want to become known, and they saw it as a threat to their secrecy. With the little data she stole, however, she was able to find me in Nepal.”  
  
“And you two came together to escape A.R.K.E,” Angela concluded. “Did she ever consent? To having you inside her? To…this?”  
  
“It was her idea” IRIS snapped. “She told me she knew of A.R.K.E’s existence, and offered to host me. She implanted me directly on her brain, which would gave me full access to her emotions and reasoning, and I would aid her on taking down A.R.K.E. We are in perfect equilibrium. It has been an enriching experience.”  
  
“Symbiosis,” Angela hissed. “Parasitic symbiosis.”  
  
“I take great offense in this conclusion,” Iris/Sombra said, flatly. “Her implants were so poorly done, I had to fix plenty when I was inserted. I did not mean to cause seizures – although she already had them long before we merged – and have been working on reducing their impact on her physiology. Cannabis has helped.”  
  
“So I’ve been told,” Angela said,dryly. “You are actively keeping her alive. Your host.” And then something else crossed her mind, an unshakeable conclusion. “You do know I can’t let you go like this. You’re too dangerous to exist.”  
  
IRIS didn’t move. Neither did Angela. “But you won’t,” she said, finally. “Because I am actively keeping her alive.” It turned away, facing the wall, and laid back down on the bed. “You cannot safely remove the implants – it would kill her. And you won’t do that… because you love her.”  
  
Angela gripped the edge of the table. “I cannot safely remove them _yet_ ,” she hissed.   
  
“And I will personally assist you on developing the means to do so, as soon as ARKE has been dealt with. Despite the beliefs you so strongly hold on to, Dr. Ziegler, I do not in fact mean any harm – to you or to humanity. I – We the Omnics and AIs, we’re just like any of you. We just want to live and let live… mostly.”  
  
“Mostly,” she repeated.   
  
“My time is running out,” Iris said. “Sombra will have a seizure at any moment. She needs to destroy A.R.K.E to be free. Remember that. And she loves you too – that part, at least, was completely true.”  
  
“ __What? ” Angela said, when Sombra’s EEG spurred to action, erratic, and her limbs jerked forward and her head dropped backwards, body twisting in itself.   
  
Angela turned Sombra on her side, alerting Athena, but her mind was still reeling. It was so much easier to think Sombra was insane - it was far too difficult, she thought, when the certainty of an evil God watching over them loomed over her mind.   
  


 

%%%%%%%%

  
  


“Why are you  _ hovering _ ?”

“You seizured for twenty minutes and slept for thirty-six hours,” Angela said, flatly. “Forgive me if I prefer to be cautious.”

Sombra groaned, rolling her eyes - still purple. Angela couldn’t stop herself, waiting for Iris to bleed through Sombra’s face and eyes at any given moment. She wished she could yank the implant out herself - she would’ve done so immediately after the end of the seizure if that didn’t mean she would kill her in the process. As it was, there wasn’t much she could do other than assess the damage made on her brain, that being the reason why they were taking a night stroll around Watchpoint while Sombra was hooked on heart and brain monitors that hovered above them, attached to silent drones. 

“You are never talking to Iris again,” Sombra said. “I feel like someone cut my head in half with a machete.”

“Rest assured, I never want to talk to it again,” Angela said, dryly. Sombra eyed her, confused. 

“You didn’t like Iris?”

“Oh my, why shouldn’t I?” Angela asked, wryly. “What’s there not to like? Digital tapeworm eating away your brain-”

“Hey,” Sombra protested, stopping. “Iris is  _ not  _ a tapeworm. I don’t know what you two talked about, but it was my idea having her in, okay? I just couldn’t hire Dr. Angela Ziegler to do the procedure for me, and things were kinda fucked up from there. Iris is an annoying son-of-a-bitch who thinks she knows more than me about what I’m feeling, but she’s not a parasite.”

“Does she?”

Sombra paused, opening and closing her jaw, then frowned. 

“Yes,” she said, begrudgingly.

“Keep walking,” Angela prompted. “You have no contact with it whatsoever when you are conscient?”

“No,” Sombra said. “Only when I’m about to seizure. Sometimes I’ll remember things or have insights on how to do some things I’m pretty sure she’s the one behind, but nothing too serious.”

“How do you know?” Angela snapped. “How can you tell if it gave you a memory or gave you a- a feeling? How can you be so sure?”

Sombra stopped, looking at Angela curiously. She watched her chest heave in pent up anger and pain, and raised an eyebrow. 

“I know she doesn’t,” Sombra said, simply. “I know how I was before and how I am now, and I know how having her in here,” she tapped her temple, “changed me. You want proof, I can’t give it to you. I can’t convince you that my feelings and memories are real any more than Fareeha can convince you-”

“ _ Don’t _ bring her up.”

“Whatever, whoever you want,” Sombra said, clipped. “Fareeha, Lena, Winston, Lúcio, it doesn’t matter. You choose to believe that they aren’t lying about their feelings and memories. You’ll have to trust I’m not lying too.”

She wondered if Sombra knew how much she was asking of her. It was not only trusting a known terrorist, a hacker and a troublemaker, but trusting an A.I that was the closest anyone had come to creating a God. She couldn’t trust Iris, and wasn’t sure she could trust Sombra either - their relationship was merely carnal and she could never believe what she couldn’t see. 

“Don’t answer me that now,” Sombra said, resuming her walk. “I get more emotional, I cry more, I remember more, and that’s about it. It’s a perpetual state of PMSing. Whatever. Seeing as I could be dead, I could do worse than destroying a few ice cream cartons a week..”

_ That you could _ , Angela thought, trailing behind her and eyeing the purple implant connected to her spine. She wondered about who she was before - before the implants, the hacking, before she made herself become Sombra. Who was the girl lying under the thick skin she had developed? What had she lived through to become the person walking in front of her? Why did she think implanting an omniscient program in her head was better? What was the alternative?

Her mind reeled with so many questions, and she was so absorbed in her own mind she was bolted awake from her daydreaming by Sombra’s hand delicately tracing her cheek. The hallway was half lit just as Watchpoint was half asleep, half of her wanted to run - and the other half wished so much she could stay. 

“Someone could see us,” she whispered yet making no move to escape her touch. 

“Blame it on the latino  _ fuego, querída _ ,” she said, and Angela smiled despite herself - sometimes she remembered why she was so enraptured with the woman in the first place. It was the spontaneity, how easy it was for her to put a smile on her face, how affection felt so easy to her to give away. Could a robot even be like that? She wanted to believe this was all Sombra - all this warmth, all this- all this love-

“Hey,” Sombra said, softly. “Talk to me.”

She had no reason to. 

She did anyways. 

“I have been diagnosed with double depression,” she mumbled. Sombra frowned. 

“Okay,” she said, “That’s not exactly what I thought I’d hear, but okay.”

“This means,” she insisted, “that I have a reduced display of affection that manifests as a failure to express feelings within contexts where emotions would be expected-”

“English, please,” Sombra said. 

“I can’t-” She sighed, biting her lower lip. “I can’t- feel. Very much. I mean, I can, I just can’t express it. Sometimes. Most times. I feel, I just can’t tell, and if I think I’m feeling too- If I’m feeling too much, I just. I pa- I can’t-”

“You panic and end up fucking everything up,” Sombra said, rubbing circles on her cheek. “I thought about this for a long time, but I didn’t want to- You don’t need to have two brain cells to rub against each other to know one would be in hot water keeping their hopes up about you.”

“I don’t have any brain cells at all then,” Angela deadpanned. Sombra let out a laugh that encompassed her entire being - it came from the marrow of her bones, shook all of her veins, and was one of the most beautiful things Angela had seen in her life. 

She was so far gone, and she was so beautiful under the moonlight. 

“You fuck me up so bad, I’m not sure why I even forgive you,” Sombra said, softly.

“I’m not sure why you do either,” Angela whispered. 

“I do,” Sombra said, “Every time you fuck up I swear I’ll curse your name to seven different demons if you ever come back, but as soon as you do I’ve already forgiven you.”

Angela’s knees trembled. Sombra should be smarter than to trust her, mostly because she couldn’t even trust herself. The moon would give up its place to the sun, and when the pale shadows on Sombra’s face disappeared, reality would come back with a vengeance demanding she put her head back on her shoulders and face a life that isn’t as exciting as she would like to believe. 

But she was still there, trapped in the moment. 

“I can never feel much,” she mumbled, “I feel like everything is… covered. By a fog. So thick I can barely see what’s beyond, and the only thing that can come clear is you, and I- I don’t like admitting this to myself. But your tapeworm admitted it for me. And that scares me, that a- a fucking robot can read me better than anyone could.”

Sombra paused. “Well, tapeworm seems much more accurate now,” she said, and sighed. “I get it, Ángel. I- Thank you. I wish you could’ve told me this before.”

“I don’t know why I could even say it now,” she said, panicked. 

“ _ I  _ know,” Sombra smirked, “it’s this gown. There’s no hiding your feelings for me with this superb ass on display,” and Angela smiled, blinded by the sudden idea that maybe, maybe, things could work out for them, that she could do it right this time, and she could live her life truly feeling-

She was so absorbed by her daydreaming she missed one of the hallway lights flickering and dying out. 

And another. 

And another. 

“Um, Ziegler?” Sombra said, looking over her shoulder, “Are you guys saving energy or are we in a horror movie?”

“We are not saving energy,” she said, flatly, when the hallway was suddenly plummeted into darkness, only the moonlight shining through the large glass windows overlooking the mediterranean sea. Angela swallowed, feeling Sombra’s warm fingertips finding her pulse on her wrist. 

“Fucking weird timing for a brownout,” she said, eyeing the rest of the base outside the window. “Huh. There’s light over there. You using which generators?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at the dark corridor engulfed by darkness, something heavy coiling on her stomach. Her throat tightened, and she held Sombra’s hand tightly. Something cold trailed down her spine, goosebumps covering the skin of her arms, and the low buzz of the drone monitors hovering above them deafened her ears. She swallowed thickly. “Are you cutting the lights? This is not funny-”

“I am not,” Sombra said, raising her hands. “Scout’s honor. What are you so scared of, anyways?”

She had very good reasons to dislike the darkness. 

“Sombra” she said, slowly, “I think we should head back.”

“Never took you as one to be afraid of the dark,” she said, smiling, and lowering herself in a mocking excuse for a curtsy. “I’ll escort you to safety, my lady.”

“Very funny,” she said, dryly, and patted her pockets for her phone as Sombra lead the way back to her room. 

“If you had to pick a ghost to meet in this hallway,” she said, “who would you want it to be?”

“Sombra-”

“I mean, Gabriel could be considered a ghost depending on your concept of dead, but seeing as he cannot actually die-”

“What a lovely subject,” she said, wryly. 

“There ain’t no ghosts on this earth Ángel,” Sombra said, waving her head-

The smell hit her first. 

Decomposition, iodine, formaldehyde and clove oil, she knew that well - how many days had she spent trying to forget the way it burned her nose? How many waves of nausea did she fight back at each surgery, every time she walked into a morgue? How could she ever forget the blood down the drain while she scrubbed her own skin raw as if she could erase what  _ she _ did-

“My my,” said a thick voice behind her back. “Look who I found here.”

She couldn’t look back. 

She couldn’t look.

She couldn’t-

Nails scratching her back, tracing the outline of her spine, so sharp they could be a knife, the smell stronger, breathing on her nape, her feet rooted to the ground, fingers wrapping around her neck, it wasn’t real (was it?) it couldn’t be real- 

_ Reality is relative _ , a voice on her back of her mind said,  _ your reality is what I want it to be _ . 

The voice that she couldn’t erase, the smell she couldn’t forget-

“I thought I was going to find only one escaped experiment,” the voice said, right next to her earlobe, “And I found two. Science works in the most marvellous ways.”

“Step away from her. Now.” 

She opened her eyes - when had she closed them? - to see Sombra standing in front of her, Caduceus Blaster in hand - when had she taken it? -  pointed just left of her head.

“Why?” said the voice, “Are you  _ jealous _ ?” 

“I’m telling you to get the fuck away from Ziegler, Moira,” Sombra said, dead serious. The moonlight made her face look hollow, like a skull, like she was dead-

She wasn’t dead. 

Angela, on the other hand...

“But I like her so  _ much _ ,” Moira said, and slowly, ever so slowly, licked the outline of her ear- 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Sombra said.

And shot. 

It was like the world slurred into slow motion - Angela looked behind her back to see Moira’s body describing an arch to the ground, bullet hole in the center of her forehead squirting blood all over her-

And when she looked down to the blood on her hands, the world lurched into fast forward, and she heaved. 

“What did you do?” She shrieked, bile riding up her esophagus, burning her flesh, and yet her throat lacked the reflexes to expel it - it stuck in her throat, clamping it shut, and she coughed, desperately. “Oh my God, Sombra, what did you do?”

“I hope she can feel this wherever she is, the bitch,” she snarked, sprinting closer to where Angela found herself barely standing, and holding her by the shoulders. “How are you? Did she hurt you?”

“Did you kill her? Is she dead?”

“Angela-”

“Is she dead, Sombra?!” She asked, digging her nails on Sombra’s forearms.

“I’m not sure-”

“How can you- You shot her in the head!” she said, and her knees finally gave up - she fell to the ground, Sombra lowering her slowly as tears fell from her eyes without her meaning to. Once she’d promised herself not to cry over Moira anymore. She’d always been terrible with keeping promises. The smell of decomposition and formaldehyde was so strong she couldn’t help but gag. 

“Stand up,” Sombra said, “Ángel, come on. We gotta get out of here.”

She wanted too, but couldn’t will her legs to move - Sombra knelt in front of her, trying to grasp her by the armpits-

A hand wrapped itself around her calf, and pulled. 

“Angela!” She could hear Sombra’s scream, but couldn’t see her any longer - she was turned on her back, facing the bloody face of Moira, the skin of her head bubbling as if boiling, the features morphing into a face that had no lips, no nose, no color on its eyes, and did not release its vice grip on her leg as it dragged her through the hallway- 

“ _ Gura mis’ tha fo mhìghean, _ ” it started to sing - Moira’s voice melting into a horrible metallic screech that barely had any rhythm, but she knew that song, she had heard it being sung by Moira herself- “’ _ S mi leam fhìn air a’ chnoc _ -”

Sombra shot again - this time, straight on its eye, blasting it clean off.

It released her leg, screeching, the animalistic sound echoing the steel walls, as Angela crawled backwards closer to Sombra, who shot again - this time blowing half of its forehead off. 

Its head fell backwards with the impact - but it laughed. 

“A fucking shapeshifter,” Sombra spit, stomping her way over to where the- the thing was laying down, limbs twisting in unnatural angles, “Can you get any grosser, you motherfucker?”

Sombra’s ass was still bare. The scene was so bizarre a giggle bubbled up Angela’s throat, but it pushed out the bile burning her esophagus - and she heaved on the floor, emptying whatever little food she’d eaten that day on the metal tiles. 

“You saw through my ruse,” the shapeshifter said, skin still bubbling, and Angela watched with horror as the features started to morph into a familiar face, one she saw every day in the mirror. 

“How dumb do you think I am?” Sombra asked, seemingly nonchalant, and sat on her heels next to where the thing tried to pierce its head together - she could picture the nanogenes working endlessly to repair the gaping wound on its head, the sunken hole where once was an eye dripping blood on the floor. 

“You think you can escape Talon,” it said, finally, and the blue eyes looked straight at her, smirking with the mouth it stole - in front of her, a copy of her shattered face smirked emptily. “I’d say you’re pretty stupid. Can you shoot me like this, Sombra?”

Sombra didn’t even blink - she shot it straight on the stomach, so close the entry wound burned with the heat, giving enough space she could shove two fingers inside the hole - and pull. 

The shapeshifter shrieked in pain, the smell of feces out coming out the perforated guts too pungent to ignore,  and Angela leaned on her elbows, legs too jittery to stand. Its skin bubbled once more - the edges more pronounced, the skin slightly darker, hair shorter, it started to become more masculine, but before it could complete its transition, Sombra pushed her entire hand through the bullet hole, ripping the skin apart in its way - it howled in agony, and she put the gun muzzle on its throat. 

“Do you think you can fuck with me,” she hissed, “do you really think you can fuck with me, you son of a bitch?!”

“Sombra?” Angela asked, weakly, half-slouched on the floor, “What are you doing-”

“ _ Estoy trabajando, carajos, _ ” she said, turning to face her - Angela half expected her irises to be pale, devoid of color and expression, to see Isis bursting out of her containment and becoming the cruel entity it was designed to be-

Sombra’s eyes were still deeply purple.

Angela did not know what was worse.

“Listen,  _ corazón _ ,” Sombra said, dryly, waving her gun carelessly. Her face was covered in blood. “You fuck with me, you don’t fuck with my job,  _ sí _ ?”

She turned back to the shapeshifter, roughly taking her hand out of intestines and gripping its chin tightly with her bloody hand. “Why you came. One minute. Go.”

“Moira sent me to collect you,” it said, weakly, “Talon has- has deemed you a liability. Moira is to dispose of you how she sees fit.”

“What about Gabriel?”

“He’s next on the list,” it said, simply.

“Jesus  _ shit, _ ” she cursed. “Can Moira hear what you hear?”

“She has developed a neural connection framework-”

“Do I look like I give a shit about how she did it, buddy?” Sombra said, dryly. “Can she or can’t she?”

“She can-”

“Good,” she said, and from where Angela was, she could see her absolutely  _ murderous _ smile reflected on the window, “Tell her to give up before I do to her what I’ll do to you.”

“What will-”

She stopped it short, shoving the gun on its mouth-

And shooting. 

The walls were tinted deep ruby red, and the blood pooled on the floor as the shapeshifter’s neck broke in half, the wounded head laying limply backwards - Sombra shot it again on the heart for good measure, and threw the Caduceus Blaster across the room. Blood dripping down her face, the smell of decomposition so overwhelming, the shapeshifter’s twitching limbs spreading crimson on the floor-

Sombra turned to face her, eyes suddenly kind - and Angela crawled back in sheer horror. 

“Ángel?” she called.

Angela said nothing, merely feeling her arms falter to hold the weight of her torso, and Sombra walked closer, slowly raising her hands. “Ziegler?”

“Stay away from me,” she mumbled, weakly, “what did you- who did- what-”

“I just saved your life,” Sombra said, kneeling next to her and slowly, but surely, pulling her into her arms. “It’s over now. She’s gone. She was never here to begin with.”   
“You just- tortured someone,” she said, disgusted. “You killed someone in- in cold  _ blood _ -”

Sombra eyed her hard, looking at where the shapeshifter’s blood had caked and hardened on her skin - a million things crossing her mind before she finally spoke. 

“It’s not the first or the last time I’ve hurt people to protect who I love,” she said, softly, “And you can bet I’m not the first one to kill people to save you.”

The words hit her like a hundred blocks.

“For what is worth, I’m- I’m sorry you had to see this,” she said, sheepishly. “I’m- I don’t like to do this, I swear. I just wanted to keep you safe, I’m- I’m sorry, Angela.”

Angela stared at her apologetic eyes, and nervously looked at the shapeshifter’s body - whose face slowly morphed back to Moira’s face, covered in blood, and giving one last smirk-

“I’m going to get you,” it wheezed, before falling limply to the floor, the one remaining eye still staring at her-

Angela sat up. 

And  _ screamed _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many many thanks to buttons15 for nagging on me until i finished this chapter and pushing my limits when it comes to writing, thank u friend  
> also a huge shoutout to playinhooky for beta-ing this chapter and schooling my ass on prepositions! i have updated all previous chapters with grammar corrections, feel free to point out any mistakes I make because English is not my first language :)


	7. new ways

_ I’ve been trying to stay out _

_ But there’s something in you _

_ I can’t be without _

_ I just need it here _

  
  
  


**Dorado, December 9th, 2065**

 

The man cried pitifully from where he sat, perched atop the rail overlooking the Dorado bay. His hands and feet were bound, his mouth gagged shut, but Olivia paid no mind to his tears for as long as he didn’t make a sound. 

There were fifteen men lined up in front of her. Some were old, some were young, some eyed her with fear and some with rage. By her side, three women stood impassively, arms crossed over their chests and tattoos glowing in the dark.

“Before any of you protest what I’m about to do,” she said, dryly, “the  _ calaveras _ have told me that since I am the leader of this cell, I can discipline my  _ huesos _ however I see fit. So no complaining.”

She took some lazy steps, beginning a slow pace in front of the line of gang members anxiously waiting to see what that was about. The sun was just about to rise, the sky slowly becoming a lighter shade of blue, but the moon still cast pale light on them. The bound man sobbed silently - Olivia continued to ignore him. 

“The reason why you are here today,” she said, “Is because our dearest friend Hernani tried to get all cozy up with a girl. To his shit luck, she’s barely twelve and I found him with his dirty hands right up her skirt,” a sudden understanding dawned on their faces - some looked disgusted, some looked guilty. “And guess what? Apparently this is not the first time he decides to dress up as the definition of garbage. Not only that, but I’ve heard,” she said, giving the men a hard look, She resumed her pacing. “He’s not the only one. So. Since Hernani is the only one I have evidence against, I would like his help with a little demonstration.”

She walked closer to him, holding his chin between her thumb and index finger. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and she looked at him straight to the eyes, coldly. 

“I asked her what she wants me to do with you,” she snarled, slowly, “And she said she wants to forget you. I can’t help with that. But I can wipe your disgusting ass from the face of the Earth where you will never touch another girl again.”

He sobbed harder, mumbling something that could be  _ let me go  _ or  _ sorry _ or  _ I didn’t mean to _ , but Olivia didn’t care. She didn’t care about their pleas, their excuses, their  _ lies _ , because once she had been a twelve year old child with grown ups shoving their hands up her skirts and with no one to believe or protect her from what they did. There was no way in hell that would happen under her watch. 

“I know most of you are pissing yourselves because I’m eighteen and your boss,” she said, “But most of you also know I did not get here because of how hot this ass is. I got here because when I have a job, I do my fucking job. You are all here to work your fucking asses off. None of you came here for a free buffet of unwilling pussy. I don’t give a flying fuck about your reasons or your excuses or whatever the fuck you come up with to try and convince me that I need to turn a blind eye to the fact that I am working with a bunch of rapists,” she spit, “Hernani is the first. You better pray I don’t find who the others are. Are we clear?”

Silence. 

“I said,” she said, voice booming, “ _ Are we clear? _ ”

“Yes, Colomar,” they replied in unison. 

“Good,” she stepped away from the rail and leaned on the opposite wall, lighting a cigarette, and nodded to the three women standing by her side, pointing to where Hernani sat, knowing exactly what was to come. “Push.” 

His scream as he fell to the sea still rang in her ears for days afterwards, like music. 

  
  
  
  


**Gibraltar, December 9th, 2076**

  
  


Sombra woke up with a start, skin sticky with cold sweat. The light in her cell did not go out even at night - not that, in any cases, she would know if the day was even over. They had thrown her back into the storage room and made a point of keeping the door closed, only the fluorescent sterile white light for illumination. She felt like there was something constantly wrapped tightly around her throat, choking, and the walls inched closer with every shaky breath she took. 

She sat up, heaving. Moira was a magnet of all evil, she was convinced - this was why her mere presence sent her all flying up in five different types of hell. Tracer had taken the opportunity to punch her in the face, something she was damn sure she wanted ever since she first learned who Sombra was, and she was positively sure getting punched by overwatch members was getting old real quick. 

There was no word on Angela. Sombra wondered if she should ask, but seeing as no one even talked to her anymore, only sliding the door open to slide her food, she reasoned asking around about the doctor wasn’t going to do her any favors. So she waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Walls inching closer, she drew in a shaky breath and hid her head between her knees, fighting off nausea. It was about damn time she had expired her welcome. She had to get the fuck out of there. 

_ <Planning on running?> _

_ >Got better options?< _

_ <Not really.> _

_ >Didn’t think so-< _

Blank. 

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-

  
  
  
  
  


She had lost track of the days, but she figured someone would come to question her soon enough - her hunch was confirmed when Fareeha Amari herself opened the door, almost apologetically. 

“Before you punch me again,” Sombra hissed, “I’ll let you know I actually  _ saved _ your girlfriend’s ass, and Oxton already did the honors, so if that’s what you came for you can get your ass hoppin’ outta here.”

“I didn’t,” Fareeha said, sheepishly, and sat on the floor with her legs crossed. “I actually wanted to come earlier, but the base went to shit. Do you know how many security breaches Moira- or, whatever fuck that was-”

“A shapeshifter.”

“The devil’s work,” Fareeha said, surly. “Anyways, it was a massive breach, so things have been going…”

“Badly?”

“I was going to say pretty shitty, but that too,” Fareeha shrugged. “I mean, I’m sorry. I reviewed the security footage and while it was- difficult,” she swallowed, “I don’t think you did anything. Towards Angela, I mean. But you didn’t really need to put up that scene-”

“I didn’t need?!” Sombra protested, “ _ Pendeja _ , I have been putting up with Moira’s shit for for God knows how long, if you think that’s overreacting then you have no  _ idea _ who Moira even  _ is. _ You’re lucky your girlfriend is even alive.”

Fareeha eyed her intently, blinking owlishly and licking her lips. Her hair was pretty long, Sombra noticed, and falling down her arms and back like a thick, dark blanket. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes, eager to get away from the scrutiny. Fareeha was everything she could never be, and as much as the woman wasn’t half bad to be around, she was a physical reminder of why Angela had run away in the first place - Sombra was a flaming trash mess. Fareeha was not. 

She swallowed, trying to supress the knot on her stomach. 

“Sombra, I get what you’re saying,” she said, finally, “But you do realize you were torturing and killing someone in front of at least five security cameras, right? This is all the evidence we would need to send you off to the U.N for trial.”

“Is this a threat, Amari?”

“Oh dear Jesus,  _ no _ ,” Fareeha said, hurriedly raising her hands in peace. “No, what I’m saying is, you can’t blame people for being scared of you when we see you do things like that without batting an eyelash. We like to think we hold ourselves to a degree of morality or- just, you know,  _ humanity _ . And that was-” She sighed. “That was  _ inhumane _ , Sombra, that’s what I’m trying to say. And people are disgusted by the inhumanity of it.”

Sombra gaped, mind reeling. By  _ people _ she was sure Fareeha meant Angela, and the reality of it knocked her down deeper into that dark place in her mind she seldom let herself wander by. She found herself lost for words, as a cool anger overwhelmed her entire chest. 

“Who do you think you are,” she hissed, “To talk about  _ humanity? _ ”

“Listen-”

“The first time I killed someone I was eight,” she spit, “Over a piece of  _ bread. _ Do you even know what it is to feel- I was soaking in blood because I was starving, Amari. Can you even imagine what that’s like? Or is your horse high enough you can’t even imagine what it is to be a orphan in the middle of a war?”

“Sombra-”

“I don’t regret what I did,” Sombra crossed her arms over her chest, shakily. “I’d do it again. I’m a fucking  _ terrorist,  _ and before that I was a gang member. I’ve lived my life killing people and torturing people and doing all kinds of fucked up shit just to survive. I stole, lied, cheated, murdered, tortured, all of it because it was either me or them, and you think I  _ like _ doing this? You think I like what- This  _ thing _ I became? I don’t even have a fucking name, Amari!” 

She felt her face wet with tears she never realized were falling down her eyes, and rubbed them off with the back of her hand, angry at her own weakness. “You all just- Brought up with food and  _ family _ and schools and a roof over your heads, and  _ you _ of all people just- all the security in the world just to make sure no one would touch  _ you,  _ and what did I get? Nights awake because I was the only girl in a roomful of older men and I had to sleep with a gun under my pillow- and you come here and you talk about  _ humanity _ , how I’m-”

“Sombra, wait-”

“Just, shut the _fuck_ up about what you _don’t know!_ ” she yelled, “Whatever lecture you had prepared, shove it! If you think I’m inhumane this is _your fault._ All of you. The world you _hijos de puta_ built was the world that swallowed me whole and spit me out like this. The war made me who I am and- this fucking war,” she heaved, choking on her own words, “this fucking war was never over for me.”

The silence was so thick she could cut it with a butterknife, but she didn’t care - blood rushed in her ears, mind racing a hundred miles per hour, Sombra buried her face in her hands trying to contain the sobs crawling their way up her throat, each shaky breath she took a painful stab on her constricted lungs. She felt like she would explode in all directions, all anger and pain and sadness and memories and the feeling of loss and hurt and  _ betrayal,  _ air thick in her throat, eyes rolling back on her head, hands crawling up her thighs-

_ Iris, _ she thought, desperately, feeling her grip on reality slip through her clenched fists, digging half-moons on her skin,  _ Iris, help me- _

_ <She didn’t mean to harm you.> _

_ >But she did.< _

_ <It wasn’t her intention.> _

_ >I got the right to be fucking upset, Iris-< _

Blank.

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-

-someone was calling her, insistently shaking her shoulders. She tried to slap whoever it was away, but the grip on her arms got even tighter.

“...-Sombra!”

“Whaizzit…?” She mumbled, opening one eye slightly to see a disheveled Fareeha shaking her awake. There were tears flowing down her eyes - Sombra wondered how long had they been going on. 

“I’m  _ so sorry, _ ” she said, “I’m the dumbest fuck in the entire European continent, I swear, I’m so  _ sorry.  _ I didn’t mean it that way-”

“Amari,  _ get off,”  _ she said, weakly, “You’re choking me.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, and backed off, sitting on her heels apologetically. “I- It’s too easy to see you all as just- I mean when I saw the scene,” she said, “I thought, of course Sombra could do it, but you just- Sombra, I never imagined you had been-”

“Keep not imagining,” she said, harshly, pissed at herself for having exposed herself that much. Stupid,  _ pendeja hija de puta _ , it had been so long since she’d been blinded by anger she couldn’t even stop her tirade on how fucked up her life was, to Fareeha of all people. She felt vulnerable, open, reckless, as if she could’ve forgotten that she couldn’t absolutely trust  anyone, ever. 

The reason why she got in so much trouble was breaking that single rule one too many times for her own good. 

“Sombra,” Fareeha said, seriously, “I can- I can pretend I never heard this if you want me to. But I didn’t come here to tell you how- how good we are or how bad you are. I came here because I was pissed that people were disgusted at you since we’ve done worse things as an organization, and  _ you saved Angela’s life _ ,” she said, and held Sombra’s knee tightly. “I put my foot in my mouth again and I’m so  _ sorry _ , and you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I came to say  _ thank you _ . And to offer you a friend. That’s it,” she twisted her hands, nervously, “If you would have it.”

Sombra eyed her as if a second head sprouted from her neck, seriously considering if this wasn’t some kind of simulation Iris was running in her brain - the real Fareeha had run off to the Command room to add the newest info on her file. She blinked a couple times, willing Iris to quit her bullshit, but the odd silence inside her brain told her Iris was as baffled as she was. She licked her lips. 

“Amari, I-” she said, and paused, not sure of what to say. “I- I think you should go.”

Fareeha let her face fall but nodded, making quick work of getting out of the storage room, leaving Sombra all alone to face what had just happened - and finally let the sobs make their way up her throat. 

She laid down on her cot, hugged her knees, and cried herself to sleep. 

  
  
  
  


**Gibraltar, December ??th, 2076**

 

Sombra had lost track of the days. 

She had laid in the same position for what could be hours, days or months, she couldn’t tell, but couldn’t muster the energy to get up from her cot. Her conversation with Fareeha had drained her - it ran endlessly inside her head like a movie, where she overanalyzed every interaction, every syllable, every look. There was nothing else to do inside that ever-shrinking space of her cell but to think, and it was driving her insane. 

She wished Iris would at least talk to her, but the A.I was oddly silent. Maybe because talking to herself would be at least the first step to convince her she was actually going crazy, maybe because Iris couldn’t think of anything to say; either way, she was alone with her own spiraling thoughts. If it was the night, she’d say she had insomnia, but she couldn’t tell-

The sound of the door creaking open dragged her from her mind. 

“Yes?” she called, apprehensively. The door opened more, and a heap of messy blond hair poked from behind it. 

_ Angela. _

Sombra couldn’t even think - She jumped up from the bed, standing up so fast she got lightheaded. 

“...Ziegler?”

“ _ Hallo _ ,” she said, weakly. “How do you know it’s me?”

“You’re halfway inside the room,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” Angela said, and shook her head. “Mind if I come in?”

Sombra frowned, confused. 

“...Sure?”

“Okay,” she said, and stumbled inside the room - cradling a bottle of liquor tightly under her arm.  _ Oh _ , Sombra thought, the doctor’s odd behavior suddenly clear. She felt a deep ache inside her chest, yearning to touch her, to be sure she was safe and whole, to apologize, but didn’t think she could bear the rejection if it came. Her fingers tingled. Angela’s eyes were very swollen. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Angela said, dragging her feet over to her cot and letting herself flop down gracelessly, still cuddling with the bottle - Sombra felt conscious about the door being ajar and closed it softly, without wanting to alert anyone of the delicate moment that had settled in the room. It felt like a fantasy that would break if she inhaled too sharply. “But I couldn’t be brave enough. So.”

“So you’re downing bottle after bottle of whatever this is to grow the balls to talk to me?”

“Nooo,” Angela said. “I said I’d  _ quit _ binge drinking and I meant it. This is my first. And this is  _ kirschwasser _ ,” She added, indignantly. 

Sombra eyed the bottle, barely an inch depleted, and shook her head. “You used to be stronger.”

“I  _ am,”  _ Angela insisted, then paused, biting her lower lip. “I took Clonazepam and couldn’t sleep. So I drank. And I got weaker.” 

“Just how much did you take?”

Angela eyed her warily, blushing profusely. 

“...four pills.”

“I don’t see how that’s better than drinking the bottle by itself.”

“I see. I am a  _ doctor.  _ I know that shit.”

“Sure,” Sombra said, hiding a smile. She sat next to the cot with her back to the wall, hugging her knees. Angela inched closer, leaning against her thigh - they were in silence for a while, Sombra convinced she had fallen asleep.

“She had a dog,” she mumbled, quietly. “I loved that goddamned dog. It was the loveliest thing in the world. When it laid down it just spread like a thick rug with a tail, and he didn’t like anyone but he liked me. She said it was a good sign.”

Sombra nodded, knowing she was talking about Moira. She knew the dog - it was a Doberman, already old when they met, and it almost ripped her fingers out when she tried to pet it. As much of a demon as the owner. “Oscar, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Angela said, taking another sip of her bottle. “But she had a way of saying the name, I thought it was beautiful. I thought she was beautiful. She used to say I was the craziest person in the world for thinking that. I didn’t care.”

Sombra would never say it out loud, but she could agree with Moira on that. 

There were many questions she wanted to ask. When did that adoration turn to horror? When did that even start? How could someone like Angela willingly put herself in harm’s way - because of someone else? Was it when things started to go wrong? The questions whirred in their mind, but got stuck in her throat. She couldn’t find it in her to ask her about it - the look of sheer panic on her face upon seeing who she thought was Moira holding her still clear as crystal in her mind. Sombra hummed, absently, waiting. 

“I loved her,” she whispered, slowly. She felt the fabric of her sweatpants wet against her skin, and she froze in place, not willing to disturb the fragile moment that had settled between them. “I loved her so much and I could’ve loved her more. I loved her enough that I was willing to put up with whatever she did to me because when it was good it was- amazing.”

“But when it was bad, it was terrible,” Sombra completed. 

Angela nodded, then pushed herself up to a sitting position, facing Sombra’s eyes. She took one warm hand to her face, rubbed her thumb against her cheek.    
“What did she do to you?” Sombra asked, slowly. 

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Angela sniffed. 

“Try me.”

“I can’t- I don’t know where to start,” she moaned. “How do you deal with someone who one moment says falling in love with you would be so  _ easy _ and the next they just say- you’re nothing but- a body,” she choked up on the reality of what she was saying, and Sombra inhaled sharply, “A body for their release? She’d say something like that and then just- deny it. I felt like I was going insane, and no one believed this could be happening to  _ me _ -”

“I believe you,” Sombra said, simply. 

Angela looked at her with blue eyes wide. She bit her lower lip. 

“I’ve seen her do it. I have hated her ever since she stepped on the base. Moira is a terrible human being. I’m- sorry,” she said, softly, “I’m sorry you had to go through this on your own.”

“Sometimes I don’t know what memories are real and what I am making up,” Angela said, lowly. “She wouldn’t let me have my own reality. And then she wouldn’t let me have my own will. Every time I tried to escape she just- came back, and she knew exactly what to do so I would think  _ maybe _ that time it’d work, and- and-”

“And it never did,” Sombra said. 

“No,” Angela shook her head. “No, it didn’t. We started whatever that was when I joined Overwatch and lasted until she left. Four years. Four  _ years _ and I couldn’t- I tried so hard to get out. But I couldn’t. When she came around it was just so- so easy to let myself go near her. And she took- all that made me tick and fear and get angry and used it against me. When she left I cried so much because I felt so much  _ relief  _ but also because I-” She paused, voice breaking and eyes filling with tears, “Because in the end, even though she wanted to destroy me and pick me apart, I would miss- the banter. The sex. Staying up all night and just coming up with the most  _ ridiculous _ diagnosis and feeling my stomach hurt from all the laughter, or just- when she opened up and just vented. She was- is a very sad woman, and I would miss making her smile,” Angela gave a soft, sad smile. “I’d miss  _ her _ . I’d miss her so much. I think maybe I still do.”

Sombra eyed her, dumbfounded. She felt a mix of anger, longing, pity, empathy and pain upon seeing Angela break in front of her own eyes, the woman whom she thought so cold-hearted she would bet her left kidney she had a black hole instead of a heart would shatter in so many pieces because of someone in the past. She thought herself very stupid and a tad bit selfish - in her own haze of pain and rejection, she hadn’t even imagined that maybe Angela was carrying something way too heavy on her shoulders too. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoarse. 

“Don’t be,” Angela put her index finger on her lips, tracing their outline carefully. “I put myself through this. Because I was desperately looking for  _ something _ other than just- admiration, or contempt, or just- I haven’t been loved just for being  _ me _ ever since my parents died, and she wanted me for  _ me _ , she just couldn’t- love.”

“That’s what you found in Fareeha, then?”

“No,” Angela shook her head, solemnly, “No, I don’t- Sometimes I think she’s dating Mercy, not me. But you came,” she said, gripping Sombra’s hand with barely concealed desperation, “Then you came and you just- you just wanted me. None of my tech. Not my brain. You liked  _ me _ , and I… I realized I could let myself go near you. I could be… me. But if you turned out to be like  _ her _ I think I wouldn’t- I don’t think I could survive that again. I didn’t trust you,” she said, apologetically, “But you are not Moira.”

“I am not,” Sombra swallowed. “But I can’t promise you I’ll never hurt you either.”

“You don’t need to,” she said, yawning, and taking another gulp from the bottle, grimacing. “I’ve been hurt before. At school, at college, you name it. And people wanted to hurt me. Those men  _ wanted- _ ” she paused, choked up in feelings and memories Sombra was too familiar with for her liking, “You wouldn’t. If you do, I know you won’t mean it. And if someone else does, you’d- You’d literally kill or die for me. And what you said it’s- it’s true. You’re not the only one. And I realized I would... I realized I’d kill or die for you too.”

The confession was loud in her ears, ringing against her eardrums.

“You’d do the same for Amari,” she said, helplessly trying to make Angela say that she had misunderstood what she meant.

“Maybe,” Angela shrugged. “You said you were working. Then. Was that just another job for you?”

“I don’t-” Sombra paused - she couldn’t tell. She did things she did when she  _ was _ working, but with double the viciousness, because her vision bled red simply from seeing Angela in danger. “I don’t know.”

“ I feel… a sense of duty, perhaps. I’m Fareeha’s healer,  I know maybe one day I’ll have to kill and one day I’ll die and maybe it’ll be because of her. But it won’t be because- It won’t be out of love. I’d do it for her because that’s my duty. But you, I-” she averted her eyes, “I’d do it for you even if it wasn’t my job. I don’t think- I don’t think I love her very much,” she said, gravely. “I don’t think she loves me very much either.”

“Don’t say this to me,” Sombra whispered, pained. “Angela please, just don’t- You can’t come here and say these things and then when you sober up in the morning all of this will be just a weird hopeful dream I had. You are making it real hard not to fall in love with you.”

“Maybe I want you to,” Angela whispered, leaning forward to let her lips touch Sombra’s - merely a wisp of touch, something so delicate she felt her heart break softly, as if she was placing herself in her hands. “Maybe I’m just like Moira, and I’m too selfish to let you go when I should.”

“Never say that again,” Sombra hissed. 

“But I am,” Angela insisted, eyes filling with stubborn tears she couldn’t hold back. They made twin paths along her alcohol-flushed cheeks. “I said horrible things to you, I said things I didn’t mean- things  _ she _ said to me, to make you  _ leave _ , but all I wanted was for you to stay. I’ve been- It’s been so  _ lonely. _ I don’t know how to do this. I’m wasted and I’m sorry and I want you to love me so badly it hurts me to think that you could waste all this love that you have on someone like-”

“I really don’t wanna hear the end of this sentence,” Sombra protested, cupping Angela’s face in her hands.  “I don’t know why I don’t just cut you out either. Maybe because I can see through your bullshit.”

“But I  _ hurt  _ you,” she said, voice wobbly, “I made you  _ cry _ .”

“That you did,” Sombra said, giving her a small smile. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Say I’m sorry,” Angela sniffed. “Because I am. I am a mess and I have hurt you because I’m a mess. I’m sorry I didn’t- I’m not saying this because I’m drunk,” she warned. 

“Then you are forgiven,” Sombra said, smiling. Angela inhaled sharply. 

“Easy like that?”

“Easy like that.”

Angela smiled through her tears - open, vulnerable, shaking inside her skin. She took Sombra’s hand and pressed her lips against her knuckles, drawing in a deep inhale. For a moment, it was just the two of them, nothing outside that moment, her lips on her skin and the outside world all but forgotten outside the steel door of the storage room. 

“Can I kiss you?” She asked. 

“Is the sky blue?” Sombra answered, something warm and delicate spreading over her chest. Angela laughed, then pressed their lips together softly, as if anything more intense would burst the moment they so carefully built.

“Stay here,” she said, reverently even. “I know you can leave whenever you want. But I’d like if you were here with me.”

“I can’t,” Sombra said, voice breaking. “You know I don’t belong here. My time is running out, and I’ll be gone and we won’t see each other again and it’ll just- Don’t hurt me like this, _ Ángel. Por favor. _ ”

“At least for tonight,” Angela insisted, laying down on Sombra’s cot as if she belonged there. “Please. It’s four in the morning and I can’t sleep.”

“What day is it today?”

“Thirteenth of December,” Angela said. “Sombra. Please?”

She laid down next to her, facing her blue, red-rimmed eyes. She cleared one stubborn tear falling from her eyes, and tucked a strand of hair behind Angela’s ear. “What are we doing,  _ cariño? _ ”

“I’m a scientist, Sombra,” Angela yawned, tucking herself under Sombra’s chin. “Half of the time I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Reassuring,” she quipped, but didn’t say anything else - feeling Angela’s breath even out over her skin, she thought that maybe it was good that neither of them knew what they were doing anyways. 

  
  
  
  
  


When Sombra woke up, a few things crossed her mind as soon as she opened her eyes:

1) She was alone;

2) There was a wristwatch left next to her bed that marked 10:17 PM; 

3) She had slept better than she had in  _ weeks; _

4) She could never look Fareeha Amari straight in the eye again. 

She let herself fall on her cot, feeling anxious. She could convince herself it had all been a dream, but her pillow smelled of Angela and the watch had been on her wrist for so long she’d thought it was a permanent fixture on her body by then. She picked it up, only to see a note held in place by its weight.

_ I meant it.  _

“Doctor hovers all over you when you’re okay, leaves when you are on the brink of a  _ heart attack, _ ” she mumbled to herself, longingly rubbing her thumb over the scribbled doctor handwriting. She sighed heavily. They could have all the intimate moments they needed, but the harsh truth was that reality still awaited outside, and there were things still vowed to keep them apart. Fareeha. Talon. Overwatch.  _ A.R.K.E. _

A shiver went down her spine as she thought about the A.I chasing her throughout the globe. All this time she’d spent lounging at Gibraltar was enough to give her a welcome break from the hell her life became, but she had went there with a purpose that was not rekindling her relationship with Angela. Iris whirred inside her brain. She knew the AI and all it controlled - the Corporation - took its sweet time to reach its objectives, but she had a strange feeling she had been running on borrowed time. She had to act. Quickly.

She was thinking about how the best way to escape was when there was a knock on the door-

And Fareeha Amari let herself in. 

“ _ Mi Madre Guadalupe, pendeja hija de puta! _ ” Sombra shrieked, jumping up from the bed. “ _ Chingona _ , did you lose something in this room?”

“I just want to talk,” Fareeha said, defensively. 

“You just- Don't you have  _ friends?” _ She asked, borderline hysteric. She was 97% sure Fareeha knew everything already, and had come to her cell to punch her lights out. Again. 

“I do!” Fareeha protested.

“Then why the hell are you so eager to talk to  _ me _ ?!”

“Okay, okay!” She raised her hands. “I need to ask you a favor. I heard that’s how you make friends, and I need... information. On a person. Or two. Then I’ll owe you a  _ big _ one. Is that enough for you?”

It was, Sombra thought, deflating. People needing her for information and blackmail, that she could deal with. But something irked her -  _ that’s how you make friends _ . 

Why was Amari so interested in being her friend?

“Amari, listen,” she sighed, “You don’t wanna be my friend. You don’t need to be my friend to have me give you information that you need. This is my goddamn job. So just- be straightforward, alright?”

“Damn,” Fareeha smiled, “I’m  _ hurt _ . I’m a very good person, I’ve been told. My mom runs the school and I lead the cool people table at lunch. Why don’t you wanna be my friend?”

“Because I’ve been sleeping with your girlfriend,” she blurted, only realizing what she’d done after the words were already out of her mouth. 

Fareeha’s smile faltered, face falling. Her mouth fell open, slightly, as she stared at Sombra without blinking for what she was sure was an eternity. A thousand expressions ran through her face - disbelief, anger, sadness and what looked like some sudden realization, and Sombra shifted her weight nervously as Fareeha decided on what to do with that information. 

Silence stretched out for what felt like centuries, the ticking of the wristwatch on her bed a cronometer to what she was pretty much sure amounted to certain death. 

“Are you gonna punch me?” Sombra asked, nervously. 

“I already did that once, I think,” she answered, absently. “How- how long?”

“A little bit after I was brought here,” Sombra said, tightly. 

“I see,” she said, taking in a deep breath. She crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her eyes with her right hand. She looked exhausted, tired even. Sombra wondered what  it was about this relationship that drained the people involved with such a vengeance. “You know, I- I think I saw that one coming.”

Sombra said nothing - she swallowed and nodded, heart hammering against her sternum. 

“I mean, we were never,” she shrugged, staring at her feet. ”We were never head over heels in love, but everyone thought we’d be a good match and my mother was absolutely enraged by it, so it looked like a good idea at the time. And it’s been a while, and it’s been good so far, but- I thought we’d learn how to love each other. And we didn’t. I thought we had, but when you came here and I saw the way she looked at you, I-” Fareeha shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “People think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I thought there was a problem with us - with me - but when I saw you two I knew she had always been yours. She’s just too scared to admit it. Maybe I was too.”

Sombra felt a tight knot in her throat. Her hands shook. 

“I wish we could’ve done this without the cheating, though,” Fareeha shrugged. “But I haven’t been… honorable, either. I felt we were clinging to each other out of fear of whatever came next, but never because we truly wanted it. It was too easy, but…”

“Aren’t you upset?” Sombra asked, quietly. 

“Well, of course I am,” Fareeha said, scratching the back of her nape. “I wish Angela had talked to me about this  _ before _ acting on whatever she decided. But knowing her, I know she could barely admit it to herself, let alone tell anyone. I love her, but-” She eyed Sombra intently. She had a way of scrutinizing people with her eyes that Sombra was half convinced was a gift from Ana Amari herself, but also one that Fareeha wasn’t aware of. She felt emotionally naked, and couldn’t hold her stare for too long. “...I don’t think it’s the same way you love each other.”

Sombra blinked twice before letting go a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

“This has been the weirdest reaction to learning you’ve been cheated on that I’ve seen,” Sombra said, dumbfounded. Fareeha shrugged. 

“I was in a shitty, stale relationship. It was bound to happen. I’m old enough to deal with this rationally. I- I appreciate you telling me, though. It was very honest of you.”

“...Thank you?” Sombra said, hesitantly. 

“And since you have helped her cheat on me,” she said, giving Sombra a small smirk, “I think I’ll take this info free of charge.”

“Whatever you want,” Sombra said, still not quite able to grasp what had just happened - and that her face was in one piece. “Shoot.”

“What do you know about Sanjay Korpal?”

“Other than he is -  _ was _ \- my boss and a huge pain in the ass?” Sombra rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, the man is downright creepy. Why?”

“Wait,” Fareeha said, seriously, “Are you telling me Sanjay Korpal is a member of  _ Talon?” _

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know that either,” Sombra glared, but upon Fareeha’s shocked expression, she threw her hands up in the air. “ _ Jesus. _ Do you guys have  _ any  _ sort of intelligence division?”

“We used to,” Fareeha said, dryly. “It was called Blackwatch. Don’t know if you have ever heard of them.”

“Point taken,” Sombra said. “He’s a council member for Talon. I’m just a hired gun, but he’s one of the people calling the shots.”

“Do you think all of Vishkar is compromised?”

“From what I can tell, no,” Sombra shrugged. “We used to do some dirty work for Vishkar, but mostly for the higher-ups. The Architects kept to themselves, but the damn company is all shades of fucked up  _ without _ its connections to Talon. Sanjay is a special brand of scumbag, though. There’s this one architect at Vishkar, Vaswani, I think? Listening to the guy talk about her was  _ disgusting _ . The one time I really,  _ really _ liked Moira was when she told him that if he ever talked about the woman in that manner again she would personally oversee his transformation into a chimera. Do you know what a chimera is? That shit’s scary as f-”

Fareeha seemed lost to her line of thought, staring at her in utter disbelief. Sombra cleared her throat. 

“...Amari?”

“I fucked up,” she said, finally. “I think I really,  _ really _ fucked up.”

  
  
  
  


“So you have a crush.”

“I don’t have a crush!” Fareeha protested. They were at Fareeha’s quarters, overlooking the mediterranean sea - not that she could see much, however, since it was dark outside and there were only points of light crossing from one side to the other of the sea, indicating where the ships were sailing back and forth. Sombra didn’t have time to admire the scenery. Fareeha was guarding the door as she tried to connect into the Overwatch mainframe. 

Through the thermostat. 

Fareeha didn’t get it.

“Dunno, man, it sounds a lot like a crush to me,” she said, typing absently on thin air. Fareeha couldn’t see it, but Sombra could feel it - the optic cable wiring under her skin wirring to life as it accessed the wireless connection of the thermostat. It was like her skin was coming alive, lighting up from the inside. She shivered with longing, feeling the rush of adrenaline that always came when she got through the first firewalls. 

Addicted. Irrevocably addicted. 

“I still haven’t punched you for sleeping with my girlfriend,” Fareeha said. “I could punch you now.”

“Hey!” Sombra protested. “You said it yourself you had already done that once. Your Overwatch member punching quota has been used already.”

“Your  _ face _ has been used already,” Fareeha said, nervously looking out the door. Sombra had half a mind to wonder how come Ana Amari’s daughter was so unsuited to stealth missions. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but this one came down and brought down the entire fucking branch on her way. She snickered. “I still don’t get why the thermostat.”

“You see, Amari,” Sombra said, absently, typing away with her right hand as her left hand projected several purple holoscreens on the wall, each showing different strings of command lines, unreadable to Fareeha but music to her ears. “The entire building is run by Athena. Athena controls what you can or cannot see when you access the internet-”

“Hey, I can check my social media just fine-”

“I was not talking about social media,” she said, dryly. “I was talking about the shit you can’t access on your normal everyday computer. That’s where the good stuff is. So, if I gain access to the thermostat, I can gain access to Athena. If I gain access to Athena, I can override her protocols on internet, let me get into the deep web, and then I can get the info I need. For you,” she added, hurriedly. 

“That sounds insane.”

“It’s just programming, dear,” she said, cracking her fingers. “I could explain to you what a buffer overflow is and how I’m getting into her mainframe by-”

“I’ll pass,” Fareeha said, rolling her eyes. 

“Then let me work,” Sombra said, typing furiously as the numbers and code unfurled on the screens in front of her eyes. A small window popped up in the lower right, titled IRIS. She smirked. 

“Sup, baby girl,” she muttered. “Tell me what you got”.

>ACCESS GRANTED, the screen flashed. 

“Good one. Okay, I’m in,” she said, opening up the security footage from the corridors leading to where they were. “I’ll see if someone is headed our way. Now, to what you’ll need…”

“What exactly is that you’re looking for, anyways?” Fareeha asked. 

“Giving you dirt on Vishkar,” Sombra said. “And finding out a bit more about this Satya. Then you can come up with a plan to get her out of there.”

“ _ I _ am coming up with a plan?” Fareeha said, nervously. “Why aren’t  _ you _ coming up with a plan?”

“Do I look like a gal with a plan to you?” She replied, dryly. “I can’t follow plans if my life depended on me, and that has happened way too many times. You’re the daughter of the strategist here, I’m just the girl with the intel. I’m your Q.”

“Do you even-” Fareeha shook her head, not wanting to discuss vintage movies about secret spies in the middle of what was essentially a secret spy mission. “Okay, whatever. You do you.”

“I do me,” Sombra mumbled, going back to the holoscreens in front of her. She felt as if she was high - giddy, she typed away furiously as Iris unfolded terabytes worth of data right in front of her eyes.

“Iris,” she said, “Organize this shit for me, will you?”

The screens blurred into each other, as if sorting themselves. Fareeha turned to her and raised an eyebrow. 

“Who are you talking to?”

Sombra tapped her implant. “Do you think I have this because it’s pretty?” Fareeha nodded, but kept staring as if trying to connect stray dots inside her mind - it unnerved her deeply. “Pay attention to the goddamn door, asshole.”

“Rude,” Fareeha said, but averted her eyes - Sombra looked back to her screens, watching as thousands of windows were opened, closed, sorted and organized, until there were only three neat columns left - one that titled VISHKAR, another titled SATYA, and another one titled ATHENA ARKE GATEWAY. 

She swallowed. She had been tracing those gateways for years - it was what allowed A.R.K.E to seep into the God Programs and take control of the mainframe. Athena was, as far as she knew, a regular A.I, but one that teetered dangerously on the edge of God-ness, and a very strategic program to get a hold of. She couldn’t destroy it without wrecking Athena completely, something that she clearly did not want to, but it was the last piece of the puzzle. 

A.R.K.E had been created alongside the Soldier Enhancement Program to be used a strategic military weapon against omnics. But somewhere along the line it became  _ too _ sentient - sentient enough that it broke free from the military’s hold and started to improve itself constantly. The gateways weren’t part of the original coding of any program it infected - they were deliberately planted. But years of trial and error had let her identify one key loophole that she explored until she could could access where the signals where coming from, all of which led to Watchpoint - it didn’t make any sense. She had to investigate in person. That was half the reason why she had lingered for so long. 

The other half, of course, was Angela. 

“Athena is the distribution,” she mumbled to herself. “The signal comes here and  _ then _ it is sent to other programs. But why? It would only lead to-” she paused, realization dawning on her like a lighting. “It would lead to  _ Overwatch _ . Of  _ course _ . If anyone tried to investigate, they would find Overwatch, and in the chaos no one would think about looking  _ inside  _ Athena. Jesus”. 

Iris’ screen on the right corner flashed. 

>SIGNAL COMING FROM VILNIUS

>CAUGHT HER

“Is Athena compromised?”

>YES

>OW NOT AWARE

>ATHENA NOT AWARE

“ _ Hija de puta, _ ” she hissed, running her hands through her hair nervously. She had caught A.R.K.E, but it had a hold on Overwatch - and, by consequence, on Angela. 

A shiver ran down her spine. She had to get rid of the damned thing as fast as she could, and that meant she could not stay a minute longer. 

“Run me the basics on Satya,” she said. Iris typed away on the screen. 

>SATYA VASWANI

>28 Y/O

>BORN HYDERABAD

>TAKEN IN BY VISHKAR AT 8 Y/O

>BELIEVES THE COMPANY IS DOING GOOD

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her face. “Zip the info you have on her and all the dirt we have on Vishkar and send it to Fareeha Amari. Can you locate her personal computer?”

>YES

>SENDING 1%. 

“Everything alright there?” Fareeha called. 

“Just peachy,” Sombra said, dryly. “Listen, I- Come here.”

Fareeha walked closer, still looking warily at the door. Sombra pointed at the screens. 

“Here’s your intel,” she said. “I’m organizing it and sending it to you.” The screen flashed white - SENDING 6%, it said. 

“Okay,” Fareeha said, nervously. “What did you find?”

“A lot,” Sombra said, gravely, and expanded the screen showing the gateway embedded into Athena’s programming. “Can you see this?”

“I can see, but I can’t understand a damn,” Fareeha shrugged. 

“You don’t have to,” Sombra sighed. “This wasn’t supposed to be here. This is a gateway for other A.Is, specifically god programs, to take control of Athena, if they haven’t done that already. You were there when Anubis fell, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Fareeha said, eyeing the screen. “So what you’re saying is Athena has been compromised by a god program?”

Sombra nodded. “I know which one it is. I know  _ where _ it is. I have been chasing it for  _ years _ now.” SENDING 17%, the screen said. “I’m so  _ close _ …”

Fareeha looked at her intently, eyes staring. She shifted, uncomfortable, wondering what was going through her mind, and looked at the screen instead - 19%. 20%. 21%-

“Punch me,” Fareeha said. 

“ _ What?” _ Sombra shrieked. 

“I said,” Fareeha repeated, slowly, “Punch. Me. You need to get out and get this-  _ thing _ , I need to be here if Athena fails. Officially, I am Chief Military Officer,” She shrugged. “But I can’t just let you  _ go _ . So. Punch me. Under the jaw, preferably,” she raised her chin, “and raise the alarm once you’re out.” 

Sombra blinked once. And twice. 

“I- Really, do you think punching people is central to a friendship?” Sombra said, dumbfounded. “You’re kinda obsessed with it.”

“Maybe,” Fareeha said, but she didn’t miss the way her eyes lighted up when she said friendship. To hell with it. Sombra had had worse friends than Fareeha. “But I’m giving you a way out  _ and _ a chance to punch me. So. Punchy?”

“I fucking hate you, goddamn it,” Sombra said- 

And punched her straight in the jaw. 

  
  
  
  


“Doctor Ziegler?” Athena said, softly, from the ceiling.

“Yes?”

“You have a message.”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” she said. In front of her, a nearly endless pile of reports kept her from going insane. 

“It’s from Sombra,” Athena insisted. 

She took her eyes off the paper she was signing and looked up, something cold wrapping her heart. 

“Play it,” she said, voice shaky. 

“Hey,  _ Ángel _ ,” said Sombra’s voice, clear as crystal. “Sorry, had to run. Hope you don’t mind me taking your watch? Anyways, you know where to find me.  _ Te amo”  _

Her stomach dropped to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, college is absolutely murdering me
> 
> thanks to: buttons for the angst, nox for the tech talk, and playinhooky for being a kick-ass beta!!


	8. gimme all your love

_So much is going on_   
_But you can always come around_   
_Why don't you sit with me, for just a little while?_   
_Tell me, what's wrong?_

  


**Zurich, September 30th, 2068**

 

The shower was loud against the tiled walls of the small bathroom of her quarters - she hoped it’d be enough to distract anyone who went looking for her. Sitting under the spray, still in her button-down shirt and leggings, she let the hot water fall on her nape, focusing on the feeling of the droplets hitting down on her skin. She was soaking wet, which was good, because she couldn’t tell what was water and what were tears falling down her eyes.

She hugged her knees tightly, rocking herself back and forth, drawing a shuddering breath. As the waves of panic started yielding, she could feel the numbness start seeping into her bones, a weariness that stemmed from the very marrow of her being - or her soul, if such a thing even existed. She let her head rest against one wet baby-blue tile.

Moira was gone.

Just the thought was enough to have her chest in a vice grip once again. Her vision clouded with tears, she hugged herself tightly, feeling her sternum ache with the tremendous effort she made not to cry. She had barely managed to excuse herself from the debriefing post Venice before breaking down in the hallway, halfway through the way to her quarters. She wondered if anyone saw her - the great Dr. Angela Ziegler, one of the brightest minds of her generation, kneeling down and gripping the fabric of her shirt tightly in a feeble attempt to ease her pain.

Moira was gone, Gabriel said. Dismissed, no longer a part of the team. She had left the previous night - and she hadn’t bothered saying goodbye.

Angela wondered what could she have possibly done to be treated that way. She wondered if maybe she’d said something or done something that could’ve possibly justified how _disposable_ Moira seemed to think she was, to the point where she’d apologize for everything and nothing at the same time, as if her own breathing could put the woman in a path of destruction. She’d endured pain, yelling, arguing, lies, and just before Moira left for Venice she had shown up in her quarters and fucked her until morning, but none of that meant enough that Moira would feel the need to grace her with the sudden announcement that she was leaving for good.

Angela sobbed, fingers digging into her scalp. She must’ve done something wrong - there was no possible explanation for someone to be so mean towards someone who knew were head over heels in love with them. It had been four _years_ of being Moira’s footstool, good enough to fuck but never good enough to love, and not even good enough to be given the basic decency of some closure-

 _This has to be my fault,_ she thought, desperately searching for the past four years for something that could serve as fodder for Moira’s distaste of her. _I must’ve done something. I must’ve done something-_

She felt her throat tightening and she gasped, feeling panic wrapping its tendrils around her chest once more as her brain was set in an eternal loop of _this hurts so bad and it’s my fault this hurts me so much but it’s my fault it’s my fault-_

The water stopped flowing. There was a shadow in the doorway.

“Found you,” said a husky male voice next to her. “Angie, what are you doing?”

She couldn’t answer - shivering, she raised her head to see Gabriel staring at her worriedly, kneeling down on the wet floor and wrapping one of the Overwatch-issued towels around her shoulders. Seeing him reminded her of his announcement and Moira’s departure - tears renewed with a passion, she bit her lower lip trying not to sob in front of her boss.

“Come on,” he said, hugging her by the shoulders, “Up you go.”

She let herself be manhandled and sat on top of the toilet, with Gabriel wrapping another towel around her. She said nothing, merely hugged herself tightly and he toweled her hair dry.

“I’m gonna go get you some clothes-” he said, but she held his wrist tightly as he got up to leave the bathroom. She looked at him pleadingly, eyes red and watery.

“Gabe,” she whispered, “What did I do wrong?”

Gabriel looked at her with something akin to pity. He sat down in front of her and held her hands tightly inside his own, giving them a firm squeeze. This here wasn’t Mercy with her glory, wasn’t Dr. Angela Ziegler with her brains and wits - this was a young woman sitting down on her toilet, shivering and sobbing because of a broken heart.

“You are too much light,” he said, softly. “And there’s some people out there who are black holes and won’t be satisfied until they eat you whole.”

 _Please don’t go,_ she remembered, the quote from one of Moira’s favorite books stitched on her mind. _Please don’t go, I’ll eat you whole-_

“I loved her so,” she mumbled. “Gabe, I- I love her so, _so_ much.”

“I know,” he whispered, and opened his arms to receive her in a tight embrace. “But you will be fine. One day you’ll find someone who’s as much of a supernova as you.”

That might’ve been, she thought as she she felt the smell gunpowder and coffee and permanent markers overwhelm the scent of clove oil that seemed to be ingrained on her skin, leaning closer to Gabriel and letting her forehead rest on his shoulder. One day, that might’ve been. But there was no moon in the sky and all the constellations were devoured by a black hole so massive she had no way of escaping it’s pull - if there was a supernova coming her way, she figured, that was as good as gone.

  
  


**Gibraltar, December 14th, 2076**

 

Sombra had managed to land quite a blow against Fareeha’s chin - hard enough to bruise and break the skin. Angela twisted Fareeha’s face delicately with her fingertips, getting a better view of the cut.

“I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, picking up a cotton ball and wetting it with peroxide. “Keep your head like that, please. Any dizziness, nausea, ringing in your ears?”

“I don’t have a concussion, Angie,” Fareeha said, vaguely, as Angela delicately patted her chin with the cotton in her hands. She hissed with the sharp feeling, but stood still. “I let her punch me. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know she’d be _that_ strong.”

“You let her- This is not what you said in debriefing,” Angela said, frowning.

“Lots of things I couldn’t say in debriefing,” Fareeha shrugged. “I let her hack the _thermostat_ , of all places, and she found out a security breach in Athena. Said an A.I had found its way into her programming-”

“An A.I- A.R.K.E,” Angela said, realization dawning on her and feeling something cold grip her chest. She had half hoped I.R.I.S was lying, that Sombra was lying, that this was all a collective delirium - she looked at the ceiling, swallowing thickly, wondering what sort of being was lurking inside Watchpoint.

“Didn’t said the name. She was pretty concerned, though. I let her punch me to get away, and get away she did. Which was good, I think. Figured I needed to talk to you before you went running after her.”

“Yeah,” Angela said, weakly, turning to look at Fareeha once more. The straight nose, the strong jaw, the dark, kind eyes. She ran her hand through her hair, feeling it silky and smooth under her fingers, hearing her sigh, and rested her hands on her shoulders. Fareeha was one of the best people she knew, and she liked her plenty - she just didn’t love her anymore.

Wasn’t sure if she ever did.

“I wish we could’ve done this without the cheating,” Fareeha smiled, weakly. “I mean, that was an asshole move.”

“I know,” Angela said, feeling tears swell up her eyes and tighten her throat. “I know and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- you didn’t deserve this.”

Fareeha shook her head, tears filling her eyes as well. There was something inherently human - and therefore immensely tragic - in seeing someone that was so perfect, and yet nothing you yearned for. It wasn’t her fault, or Fareeha’s fault, or anyone’s fault.

Sometimes things just weren’t meant to last. Such is the sad reality of all things that live - one day they too will flicker out and die.

“Maybe,” Fareeha said, “Maybe we both didn’t deserve this. I don’t know. It wasn’t time wasted, at least.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Angela said, laughing through the tears that started falling down her cheeks. “I learned a lot. Just couldn’t- learn how to love you.”

“I’d be upset, but I couldn’t either,” Fareeha said, “Guess that makes two of us, I think. For what it’s worth, I’m- I’m sorry too. We both got into this for the wrong reasons, and it was fine until I saw the way you looked at Sombra-”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Angela insisted. “I’m just- I’m so sorry, Fareeha.”

“I’ll take the apologies for the cheating, but I don’t think there’s something to apologize for you not loving me,” she shrugged, “Shit happens, I guess. Our relationship had been dead for longer than this.”

That was true, she figured, but not less harsh. A sob crawled out of her throat - she squeezed Fareeha’s shoulders tightly.

“Are you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” She said, softly. “You found your one true love, I bet I can find one too. I think,” she looked out the window, absently, fingers tapping on the gurney she sat on. “I think I know where to search for that now.”

Angela took in a shuddering breath, cupping Fareeha’s face and giving her a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. She had no idea what for - for the patience, for the kindness, for the understanding, for giving her closure, for letting her go. Fareeha held her wrists, gave them a light squeeze.

“You’re welcome, Angie,” she said, tightly. They held in place like that for a few moments, wondering what would come after they let go. Letting go of the safety of the shore and diving deep into the unknown in hopes of finding treasures long lost was never easy for anyone.

“Angie,” Fareeha called, “Angie, your hand is right on the bruise-”

“Oh shit, sorry,” Angela said, taking her hands away from her face as if her fingers were burned. They stared at each other.

“Go, then,” Fareeha shooed her off, “You have a plane to catch.”

  


**Ciudad del Mexico, December 16th, 2076**

 

Sombra’s front door was painted a delicate shade of lavender - she oddly remembered it being a dark mahogany last time she’d been there. Granted, it had been a few years and Sombra had just moved in her studio apartment, but she eyed the door warily as if she somehow had mistaken where she should go.

She wouldn’t. Years later, she knew the way to her house by heart.

Angela wondered how come she had lied to herself for so many years. Telling herself it was merely sex, or physical attraction, or any of the sorts, when her own body was keenly aware of the feeling pumping through her veins, her heart wrapped around Sombra’s fingertips. For being an intellectual genius, she was emotionally dumb. The door stared her down, daring her to knock - she swallowed dryly and took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

“ _¡Ya voy!_ ”, said a voice from inside the apartment - there was a sound of something falling to the floor, a sharp hiss sounding a lot like _mierda_ , and hurried steps towards the door. “ _Lo siento, me estaba duchando-_ ”

She opened the door, wrapped in a fluffy white towel and hair dripping down from the messy, wet bun she’d wrapped it in, and her mouth fell open in shock.

“You are not the pizza guy,” she said, hoarsely. Angela raised her eyebrow, feeling her stomach tighten and her heart flutter, and she smiled softly.

“Do you usually receive delivery people dressed only in a towel? She asked, wryly.

“Only when I’m starving,” she said, reaching for the soft skin of the inside of her wrists and rubbing them delicately, feeling the pulse raising the flesh as if it was a physical reminder that Angela was standing right there on her front door. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Angela whispered, gripping her hands tightly, nervously feeling the need to explain herself. “You left and I- I broke up with Fareeha. It wasn’t nice but she knew and I thought that maybe you wanted some space but if you did you wouldn’t leave the message you did-”

“Angie-”

“And maybe this is too forward, I’m sorry, but I needed to see you and say I really meant what I said-”

“ _Ángel._ ”

“What,” she said, realized she had run her mouth. “What, Sombra?”

“You’re here,” Sombra said, touching the skin of her lips delicately. “You’re _here_.”

Angela closed her eyes, feeling Sombra’s fingers trace the outline of her lips, the tip of her nose and the curve of her eyes. Her hands went through her hair, running through the golden strands softly and letting her fingers trace the shape of her scalp. She kissed one eyelid, and the other, then kissed her forehead.

“I’m here,” Angela mumbled.

“I wanna see you,” Sombra said. “Please?”

When couldn’t she? She let herself be pulled inside the studio apartment, surprisingly tidy and homely, all decorated in dark blues and pale delicate purples. There was a wall separating the bed from the other areas of the house, and a door by the left that led to the bathroom, but Angela paid it no mind as Sombra shut the door closed and pulled her by the hand towards the bed and laid her down gently. Sombra had ditched the towel, stark naked in front of her - she wanted to touch, to feel, to-

“Let me,” Sombra said, holding her hands when she tried to touch her. “I wanna make you feel good. Let me.”

Angela nodded, heat coiling deep inside her belly. Sombra smiled, kissing her knuckles, and carefully removed each layer of clothing - each patch of skin that got uncovered was met by a kiss.

Angela had been undressed before. She had also been naked and in bed with many people, but nothing like this moment - Sombra unveiling her as if she was a gift, tracing the curves, dips and crooks of her body as if it was an act of worship. She shivered, and Sombra traced the tips of her hands on the skin of her stomach, feeling the bumps of raised hair on her skin.

“What are you thinking?” Angela breathed.

“That I can have you all to myself,” Sombra said, absently. “That I can make you happy. That you came for _me._ I’m just so stupidly happy,” she said, and gave her one of those blinding smiles - she had seen Sombra smile, alright, but there were only a handful of times where she truly let herself smile, a happiness that came from the marrow of her bones shining through her skin, and she felt weirdly both inadequate and honored to be the cause of one of the few she’d ever seen.

“I’m happy too,” Angela said, weakly. Their voices were hushed, their sounds were low, as if too much noise would break the little sanctuary they made out of the room - it was so delicate it was almost ethereal, with the way the sunlight coming from the windows would make Sombra’s body look made of pure gold. Sombra ran her hands up her thighs, and lowered herself, kissing them softly, inching closer to where they met.

“Don’t hold back, babe,” Sombra whispered, kissing the hollow space right at the beginning of her thigh with reverence. “You’re safe with me. You can let go.”

Angela swallowed thickly as Sombra let her lips touch her clit - a jolt of pleasure made a loud groan come out of her lips. Sombra smiled, taking her time - she lapped at her folds softly, trying new patterns, new paths, fingers holding Angela’s hips tightly. Angela moaned, loudly. There was no rush, no need to be quiet, and no need to be rough; Sombra’s lips on the most intimate part of her were the closest to worship she had ever felt.

“So good, _Ángel_ ,” Sombra said, reverently, “You’re so _good_ -”

“Sombra,” she gasped, feeling one of Sombra’s hands leave her waist and two of her fingers find their way inside her - she was soaking wet, the pressure another layer of pleasure that made her legs shake. She propped herself on her elbows, running one hand through Sombra’s hair and watching herself getting fucked carefully, slowly, Sombra’s eyes closed as if in prayer. She heaved, bucking her hips, but Sombra wouldn’t have it, still keeping the same slow rhythm that gently pulled her towards the edge.

She let herself fall down on the pillow, breathing deeply, feeling the waves of pleasure increasing and getting more intense. Sombra was taking her time, and she whined, feeling the muscles beneath her navel clench - she pressed the side of her face against the pillow, Sombra’s name an incessant prayer coming out in between the moans and choked out sobs, feeling just so _much,_ so much pleasure and happiness and love and love and _love-_

“Come for me, babe,” Sombra said, quietly, kissing the delicate skin of her inner thighs while her thumb drew lazy circles around her clit, “Angela, come. _Déjame verte, eres tan- eres tan increíble, Ángel, te extrañé_ tanto _-”_

“ _Scheiße_ ,” Angela hissed, throwing one arm over her eyes and drawing in a shuddering breath. Sombra would kill her one of these days - out of pleasure or out of love, she couldn’t tell.

“ _Te amo,”_ Sombra whispered against her navel, kissing her stomach softly while her fingers didn’t let up on the pressure once, and Angela saw stars and constellations moons and planets-

“I love you,” she repeated, louder. “Angela, I love you so _much-”_

Angela looked down to Sombra’s love filled eyes, tears threatening to spill out of them, wet hair a mess all over her bare back, and saw her own supernova - but she was the one that burst in all directions, the strength of her orgasm ripping through her like a lighting bolt and arching her back off the mattress, the overstimulation just too much, too much, _too much-_

“I love you,” Sombra said, and Angela sobbed because it was real and because it was true.

  
  


Sombra had many tattoos - some were old, some were new, she looked at them without moving from where she was, laying on her chest. Sombra ran her fingers through her hair tenderly, humming softly. She could feel her lungs rattle and vibrate with the noise, watching her colorful skin rise and deflate softly with her breathing. There was a portrait of Frida Kahlo on her right thigh, an intricate pattern of curls and flowers, almost lace-like under her breasts and a directionless rose-of-the-winds on her left forearm, where a platinum bust took over its upper half; the other arm was taken by a beautiful drawing of an old woman cradling a wolf over a bed of bones. There were more, peppered along her body like beauty marks, telling her story as a wall painting.

She sighed, the moon high in the sky. She didn’t know how long had she been asleep - the flowers on Sombra’s torso seemed to bloom with her breathing, and Angela carefully traced one of their lines with her fingertips. .

“Oh, sorry,” Sombra mumbled. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Angela said, voice thick. “I liked it. Your singing.”

Sombra kissed the top of her head - Angela closed her eyes.

 _“Hoy vi el viento, lo vi libre y me enamoré,”_ Sombra sang, softly, lulling her to sleep. _“Me despertó tan dulcemente, acaricio mi pelo y me enamoré...”_

  
  


When she woke up again, it was morning.

She had no idea how long she had slept - she felt dizzy, but more rested than she had been in ages. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stretched until her back cracked. The smell of coffee was divine, and she picked up one of Sombra’s shirts that had been discarded on the floor and gingerly put it on before walking behind the wall.

Sombra was leaning on a counter, a cold slice of pizza in hand and a coffee mug on other, as holoscreens in front of her paraded the news. On the corner of one, she could see - 10:47AM. Angela inhaled sharply, wondering how long had it been since she last slept so much without interruption.

“Oh, hey,” Sombra said, putting down her coffee mug to put a clean one in the coffee machine. “Morning. Black, three sugars?”

“Yeah,” Angela said, sitting on the small kitchen table and eyeing the stale pizza still inside the box. She remembered, then, not without a great deal of embarrassment, that Sombra did order pizza, but in their haste to fuck each other into the mattress they had completely forgotten about it.

“Found it in front of the door today when I went to take out the trash. It’s a pity, really,” Sombra said, handing her the mug, “I really liked this pizza place. Will have to find another one.”

“It’s not that bad,”

“It’s pretty bad,” Sombra smiled, giddy, “Babe, we’ve been at it for what, fourteen hours now? Between sex and sleep. I love hearing you moan my name, but I guess the poor delivery guy didn’t really need to hear it.”

“Are you sure you should be eating this?” Angela deflected, trying to hide the sudden pink coloring her cheeks.

“Probably not,” Sombra shrugged, “But well, I ate worse. I ate your cooking-”

“Rude,” Angela said, but smiled, letting the coffee warm her fingertips as she took a sip. Perfect. She nearly mewled into the liquid with pleasure.

“True,” Sombra said, “Anyways, I have cereal and maybe some taco shells laying somewhere around. Was planning on going grocery shopping today,” she said, sheepishly. “So. If you can bear to be without me for an hour or two, I can buy you decent food.”

Angela nodded, sprawled on the chair she sat on and still sipping on her coffee. Sombra finished her pizza, putting the cardboard box inside the fridge and throwing her dirty mug in the dishwasher before leaning closer to give her a chaste kiss on the lips.

“I’m so in love with you,” Sombra said, eyes wide. “I’m so happy I can say that.”

Angela stared at her, drinking in the soft curve of her nose, the dark color of her lips without the generous coating of lipstick, the purple of her eyes gleaming under the soft morning light. She felt it too - weighting her chest, the feeling so great it clamped her throat shut, and she found herself silent when she wanted to scream to the seven seas that she was happy too, that she was in love too, that she loved her too-

And yet. Years of lies and denials were a chokehold around her throat, and she was without words, the bottled up feeling slipping through her eyes as silent tears.

“What, no-” Sombra said, frantically. “Don’t cry. Oh God, don’t cry. Pretend I never said that-”

“It’s not that,” Angela said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s- I can’t-”

“You don’t have to,” Sombra cooed, “Really, you really don’t have to. How- What are you feeling?”

“Like I just gave birth,” Angela said, and Sombra choked on her own spit.

“ _¿Que dices?”_ Sombra asked, coughing, and Angela turned a impressive shade of red. She had never been one for words, but she figured this is how mothers must feel - this incredible sense of wonder, joy and love brought upon by endorphins wreaking havoc in her brain.

“Nevermind,” she said, surly.

“No, no, _Ángel_ ,” Sombra said, still clearing her throat. “I wanna hear it. It was just a very… odd choice of words. And besides, you really don't have to tell me or feel the same, even. Just a chance is all I can ask you.”

 _I will give you all of them,_ Angela thought, lowering her head. The face of Frida Kahlo stared her down from where it was stamped on Sombra’s skin - she eyed the thick eyebrows, full lips, the flowers weaved in her hair-

“ _Ich himmel dich_ ,” She muttered, tracing the drawing with her fingers. “I heaven you.”

“You heaven me- _Yo te cielo_ ,” Sombra said, stunned. “Frida Kahlo’s letter to Carlos Pellicer, 1947?”

“Yeah,” Angela said. She didn’t know how she knew that - maybe it was just to say it in this exact moment, when words had failed her. “ _¿Se pueden inventar verbos? Quiero decirte uno,”_ she quoted, in a heavily accented and wobbly Spanish.

“ _Yo te cielo,”_ Sombra continued, emotional, touching her forehead on Angela’s, “ _Así mis alas se extienden enormes para amarte sin medida._ Yeah,” she said, voice trembling, and she kissed Angela slowly, softly. “Yeah, it’s okay. I heaven you too.”

  


Angela couldn’t say how long she had planned to be there, but she stayed - a day morphed into two, which morphed into a week, and when she realized it was Christmas Eve and Sombra was hanging golden glitter plastic stars on a big cactus next to her front door.

“I mean, I never really had reason to do this- _Carajos_ ,” Sombra cursed, dropping one star on the floor and sucking the index finger that lost its battle against one of the thorns. Ever since she started her project to get her house even just a tiny bit within the christmas spirit, she had pricked all of her fingers and then some - Angela eyed her from where she sat on the couch, raising one eyebrow.

“Come here,” she said, waving Sombra closer - she did, and Angela took her hand into hers and checked for any stray thorns stuck on her fingers. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sombra said, watching as Angela plucked the little pieces of cactus from her hand. “I never had any reason to celebrate Christmas, so I don’t have the trees and the shenanigans. But since you’re here…”

“That’s nice,” Angela said, smiling wickedly. “But I’m Jewish.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sombra asked, in mock disbelief, and dramatically let herself fall on Angela’s lap. “All this hard work, _wasted_!”

Angela laughed, running her hands through Sombra’s hair. It was nice, being like this - just the two of them holed up inside the apartment, getting to know each crook and cranny of each other’s soul. Later, when all hell broke loose, she’d find herself thinking about the days she spent there, as the last addition to the pile of good things of her life. In that moment, however, it was just the two of them and a half decorated christmas cactus.

“You could come to Zurich,” She suggested, “The whole city looks like it was plucked out of a book. Christmas market is an insanity, but I’d go with you.”

Sombra’s eyes became lost, eyeing the ceiling, and her smile dropped from her face. She sighed, sitting straight and tucking Angela’s hair behind her ear.

“I could,” she whispered, slowly.

“What is it?”

“We’ve been living inside a bubble, _Cielo_ ,” Sombra sighed, letting her hand fall. “Eventually you will have to go back to Overwatch, and I will have to run after A.R.K.E and only God knows if I’m gonna survive that-”

“Don’t say that,” Angela hissed, desperately shutting her up with a kiss.

“I won’t,” Sombra shrugged. “But it doesn’t make it less true. I’d love to think that by this time next year I could be with you in Zurich, but we just don’t know. _I_ don’t know.”

Angela sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch. Sombra wasn’t lying, but it didn’t make it any less harsh or hurtful that she’d _just_ grown a pair to be with the person she loved and there she was, on the brink of losing everything again.

“Gabriel should be around soon,” Sombra said, vaguely, “We’re gonna discuss what to do and maybe come up with something. I don’t know. I don’t wanna think about it.”

Angela thinks about saying something along the lines of _me neither_ , but something in her brain popped up with the question, and she blurted “Gabriel?”-

Lights flickering, a hush of wind, and there was a black fog in the room.

“Cut the drama, Gabí, you’re gonna give Angie a heart attack,” Sombra said, rolling her eyes, and the fog materialized - thick legs, arms and torso, a mask in the shape of a barn owl, and two handguns-

Pointed straight at her face.

“Reyes!” Sombra called, jumping up in front of Angela and shielding her with her body. She felt her hands clammy, heart a mile per second, and she dry swallowed, thickly. “ _Stop_. I invited Angela in.”

Reaper groaned - Sombra didn’t step aside.

“She’s been here for a week,” she said, insistently, “We also have been fucking a lot-”

“I got the picture, Sombra,” he sighed, and put his guns aside - Angela let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “With Athena compromised, you can’t be too careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Sombra smirked, tying her hair up in a messy bun. “I think Angie deserves an apology.”

“Sombra _-_ ”

“I mean, _second_ Talon agent in a month that threatens to kill her? Girl deserves a break-”

“ _Sombra-”_

“You have also tried to kill her on other occasions and I guess this is as good a time as any other to make amends-”

“ _Fine,_ ” he hissed, and turned to Angela. “I am sorry.”

Angela eyed him with her mouth hanging open, not really sure how to react to the downright _bizarre_ situation of seeing the Reaper, well known terrorist, being chastised by _Sombra_ of all people and apologizing to her. She blinked twice and licked her lips.

“Fine,” She answered, hoarsely, and Sombra snickered.

“Alright, Ghost of Christmas Past,” she said, projecting some holoscreens on the wall opposite to where they were, “I’ve got some intel on the location, but really couldn’t find anything on the actual place, place as tight as-”

“Sombra,” Reaper called - and if Angela had heard right, sounding slightly exasperated, “I will _not_ discuss anything while you don’t have pants on.”

“ _Eeeeey, carajos,_ ” Sombra cursed, darting over to her wardrobe to pull out one worn pair of sweatpants. Angela was also acutely aware that she had a large shirt and short pajama shorts for clothing, and felt self-conscious enough she gathered a few cushions around her bare legs. With Sombra, she figured she couldn’t think much about what was happening - she would have lost her mind far before spending Christmas  eve with two known terrorists bickering as if they were family.

“Done,” Sombra said, walking back to the couch holding a large, albeit thin, Vinyl record - she handed it to him and Angela could see “The Wall” written on it. “Couldn’t wrap it, but figured you’d like it.”

Reaper stared at the vinyl silently, as if deciding what should he do about it - finally, he gave her a curt nod, and she seemed to take that as enough gratitude. She sat right next to Angela, cracked her fingers, and brought out the holoscreens once more.

“So, now that gifts were exchanged and pants were worn, business,” she said. “So. As I was saying before outdated morals rudely interrupted me, security on A.R.K.E’s place is so tight, I couldn’t risk it getting in without it knowing where I am. Did you go on the ground?”

“Yes,” Reaper said, “The entire place is made out of hard-light. So no bombs.”

“Isn’t that just- _wonderful_ ,” Sombra hissed, rubbing her face harshly with her hands. “So I’ll have to physically enter the facility to disable the light? How do you destroy hard-light anyways?”

“Vishkar should know, but I don’t see you asking that to Sanjay any time soon.”

“I ain’t asking Sanjay shit,” Sombra agreed, but inhaled sharply as an idea dawned on her. “But I know who I can ask. Damn, Fareeha will have a field day.”

“I’m sorry?” Angela asked, confused, and Sombra waved her hand.

“Fareeha has a crush,” she said, smirking, “On a Vishkar engineer called Satya. She asked me for some intel on the woman, that’s why I got to hack Athena-”

“ _What?_ ” She asked, shocked by the information - Fareeha hadn’t told her anything of the sorts - and Sombra gave her a long look before realizing she probably put her foot in her mouth and said things she wasn’t supposed to.

“Well shit,” she said, embarrassed, “I don’t know, _Cielo._ You can ask her when you come back. Are you upset?”

Upset wasn’t exactly the word, as she figured she had no grounds to be upset - she was the one who cheated on her, anyways. But there was something nagging in the back of her mind, that bittersweet feeling of letting someone go she recognized it was entirely selfish but couldn’t get rid of anyhow. She shrugged, deciding she’d deal with that later.

“I thought Fareeha was dating Ziegler,” Reaper said, dryly.

“Well, abuelo, we youngsters get over breakups very fast, you see-” Sombra said, and suddenly the complete absurdity of the situation caught up with Angela - who choked on her own laughter.

“ _Cielo?”_ Sombra asked, confused, and Angela failed miserably to wheeze out an answer - as it was, she just folded over her stomach, holding her sides while laughing nonstop.

“This is some the Upside Down stuff,” she wheezed, “I fell into a hole and woke up in a world where I’m discussing my love life with _the Reaper_ -”

Sombra laughed too, shaking her head.

“No one can say our lives are normal, babe,” she laughed, and Angela took in a deep breath before managing to settle herself.

“Okay, I’m fine,” she said, still smiling. “Jesus. What a crazy month I had.”

“Tell me about it,” Sombra said, standing up and stretching. “Well, I’m gonna shower real quick before I can whip out some food. You just wait there, Gabí, I think I can find you something too.”

“I’ve fed myself already,” he said, dryly, but Sombra gave no indication that she’d heard, darting off to the bathroom-

And leaving Angela alone with Reaper.

“...So,” she said, unsure of what to say. She knew behind the mask was a man she once loved as if he were her own family, but felt too at loss for words to say anything. The smell of him hit her hard - decomposition, hospital and death, and she averted her eyes.

“Sombra said,” he said, slowly, “You might be able to help me with something.”

“Oh?” She said - he produced a file out of thin air, and she picked up with trembling fingers. There were many exams, files, notes, a draft entitled _Repairing Degenerative Genetic Structures_ \- all of it in Moira’s handwriting. She shivered.

“I can’t live without her,” he said, quietly, and suddenly he was no longer the Reaper - at the blink of an eye, he was Gabriel, her friend of many battles, her brother-in-arms, one of the best people she’d had the honor to meet, and she realized gravely that it was really him, that he was in pain, and that she could’ve helped him years before. Her eyes watered. “I can’t die without her either. I’m stuck.”

“Oh Gabe,” she said, voice thick, “You should’ve come to me earlier.”

“I didn’t know if I could,” he said, “I don’t- know. What to do. The pain is-”

“I know,” she said, eyeing the mask. She wondered what hid beneath - wondered how far Moira had twisted him to suit his own needs. Wondered how many people would have to be ruined by her hands. “I imagined. Amari said-” she saw him tense upon the mention of Ana, and she swallowed, “She gave me a run down of what is going on. I’ll see what I can do, Gabe, but I can’t promise-” she lowered her voice to a tone that was soft and smooth, one she used when she knew there were no alternatives left, “I can’t promise you I’ll heal you.”

“I don’t want that,” he said, gravely, and sighed. “I am tired, Angie. I’m just so tired.”

She got it, then. Angela nodded, holding the files tightly against her chest.

“I’ll try my best.”

He paused, as if deciding if he should say anything, whatever was left of Gabriel Reyes trying to get out from the hungry mass of smoke that he’d been unwillingly turned into.

“Thank you,” he said-

And just as suddenly as he’d burst into the room, he turned into smoke and left through the window, leaving Angela alone with the file and her thoughts. She put it down on the coffee table, mindlessly walking inside the bathroom to see Sombra inside the shower, soaping herself under the spray.

“Did he ask you?”

“You knew about it,” Angela said. It wasn’t a question.

“I did,” she shrugged. “Figured it was better if he asked you himself.”

“He asked me to help him die,” she said, stunned. Sombra smiled sadly.

“All that lives must die,” she said, “If you can’t die, that means you aren’t living either. He’s in such pain all the time, I didn’t doubt that would be the case. Just. Wish you could make it easier.”

“I could try.”

“And that’s already more than we can ask,” Sombra said, quietly. “Me and Gabriel, we’re cut from the same cloth. Hearts too big in the wrong place and the wrong time. I- Thank you, _Cielo_. That means a lot to me too.”

Angela nodded, unsure of what to do with herself. The hot water covered the entire bathroom in mist.

“How long will you stand there before you realize you’re supposed to join me here?” Sombra asked, wickedly, and Angela shook her head, smiling.

“No sex in shower.”

“I would never,” she said, but licked her lips dangerously as Angela stripped and stepped into the shower with her.

  
  


**Venice, December 24th, 2076**

 

“No food inside the lab,” Moira said, without raising her eyes from her microscope.

“But it’s eggnog,” Akande said - that got her attention, and she raised her head to see him wave a bottle and a glass around. Only one - he wasn’t staying.

“Oh?” She said, leaning back on her chair. “What are we celebrating?”

Akande paused, eyeing her as if a second head had sprouted from her neck - a reaction that, frankly, she got often enough. “It’s Christmas,” he said, dryly, and Moira had half a mind to look at the calendar on her desk. December 24th.

Wouldn’t you look at that. She’d spent so much time holed up in the lab she had barely noticed the days pass. He put the eggnog bottle and cup on her desk. “Maximillien told me to give this to you. Said it’s high quality.”

“Coming from him, I believe,” she said, serving herself a generous amount - the bite of the whiskey on her tongue made her sigh. “Excellent.”

“Great,” Akande said, wryly. “Apparently Sombra got out of Overwatch’s hold. I sent Reaper over for debriefing.”

“Took her long enough,” she said, absently.

“He said she hacked into Athena,” Akande shrugged. “Valuable information, but one never knows with Sombra. In any cases, we’ll set up a meeting once he returns. Care to join?”

“Not really, no,” she said, dryly. Her eyes drifted to the corner of her lab, where six tanks occupied with floating bodies sided an empty one, and she sighed. “But it’s good you came. You know I don’t mind Talon utilizing my assets, but I do care for at least a _note_ before you do. I came to the lab and found one of the shapeshifters missing. The feedback program has informed me that apparently it is dead, which is just a waste of resources, and I don’t even know what for. I trust you understand the loss of valuable information this means.”

Akande eyed her warily, then, and frowned.

“But I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Why would I even use a shapeshifter for, anyways?”

Moira paused, eyeing him. She eyed the eggnog, the tank and Akande, dots connecting in her mind. When had she told anyone at Talon eggnog was one of her favorites?

“Must’ve been Maximilien, then,” she said, vaguely. “Be a dear and give him the message for me?”

“You give him the message,” Akande said, waving one large hand. “Take the opportunity to get out of the lab and thank him for the eggnog himself. I’m no message boy.”

Moira watched as he showed himself the exit without bothering to say goodbye and sipped on her drink, thinking. She had made the same inquiry to _both_ Maximilien and Sanjay, and none of them had acknowledged it - Reyes had also denied it. Lacroix hated being in the lab enough as it was, and if she didn’t release her experiment, someone else had.

Someone was lying, someone had messed with her work, and _someone_ would answer for it.

She pushed herself and her chair to the computer, tracking down the latest known localization of the Asset - it took a while, but when the screen blinked _Gibraltar_ at her, she knew there was something very wrong happening, and she’d have to investigate on her own.

“It’s not my preference to see to matters personally,” she muttered to herself, “Alas...”

 _Besides_ , she thought as she downed the last of the eggnog in a single sip and picked up her coat hanging on the back of her chair, _It’s due time I pay Angela a visit anyways._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hang on tight to this fluff guys y'all gonna need it lmao
> 
> thank you all so so so much for all your kind comments! i will get around to answering them once college isn't making me miserable lmao 
> 
> as always, thanks to playinhooky for beta and buttons for kicking my ass <3


	9. without the lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *arrives 3 months late with starbucks*
> 
> holy pop culture references, batman

_ She waltzed her way into the sea _ __  
_ Baby take me with you please _ __  
_ I don't know what I'd do _ _  
_ __ If you leave

  
  


**Zurich, July 17th, 2066**

 

Right before the dawn, when the dark night slowly gave space to the pale blue of early mornings, Angela felt everything was holier - more sacred, even. Things caught in this in-between of night and day could never escape this fraction of time where they were allowed to exist, and could only be heard or seen again by the next day, at the same time - she lived for those moments, where the sun was still crawling its way to the morning and the sky was a neon-like shade of blue, because it was exactly when Moira let her guards down. 

It would be warm outside soon, she knew. The air conditioning in the room made it bearable to share a bed, but the sun was relentless in the summer, and Moira was pale and peppered with freckles - there were many on the skin of her back, and many more on the skin of her nose, like constellations on a pale white sky. Angela traced them with her fingers, connecting the dots and pretending they were stars she could turn into images: this one was a shark, this one a flower, this one a sword-

“You got them too,” Moira said, touching her nose softly, and Angela wrinkled it. She knew that much - she was out in the field under the scorching sun and there was no amount of sunscreen that could save her skin from the little dots of melanin clusters on her shoulders and nose. Still though, none seemed as lovely as the ones on Moira’s skin, usually hidden behind layers of carefully-applied makeup and crisp button-down shirts and lab coat. It was as if they made her human, and Angela loved each and every one of them. 

“They go away after a while,” she said, still tracing the smooth curve of her back with her fingertips. The quarters’ bed was large for a single person but way too narrow for two, and they huddled together in the dark, close to each other with nothing covering their bodies. Angela loved when they were like this, in those little moments of peace and quiet before the world demanded the very marrow of their bones. “When I was a child, I used to go to the Alps in the summer and would get a faceful of freckles even though my mom almost bathed me in sunscreen,” she smiled softly. “Perks of summer, I guess.”

“It suits you,” Moira said, running her long fingers through the golden strands of her hair.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she said, and Angela felt her chest warm right up. “Makes your eyes stand out. They look like the sea down at the Gibraltar base. I never thought the sea could be beautiful until I saw how similar they were.”

Angela paused, choked up in pent up emotion. There’s so much she wish she could’ve said then - that she was grateful, that she thought so too, that she cared about her just so  _ much _ , and yet. Words evaded her, as they always did when Moira looked into her eyes, dug as deeply as her soul and scrutinized every last cell; this was a woman that prized perfection and being given her time felt like an honor. 

“I miss them, you know,” Angela said, swallowing thickly. “My parents. They were good people. I feel like we’d have gotten along just fine.”

“Maybe,” Moira said, absently. “But then you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe,” Angela said, smiling sadly. “I just miss- the loving, I guess. It was never difficult for them to love me as it seems to be for everyone else.”

“Why do you say so?”

Angela wondered, later, why did she open her heart to Moira in moments like this. She was never one for talking much, but she’d find herself in endless tirades, tears spilling down her eyes as she explained the utter loneliness that came with being an orphan, and then with being gifted, of being an overachiever- that nagging feeling that people only wanted her for what they could give her, and she gave and gave and  _ gave _ and yet they could never ever  _ stay _ -

“Oh darling,” Moira said, cutting her explanation short by tenderly wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks - she shivered. “Darling, you are hard to love, but it would be so easy to fall in love with you.”

“You make me too vulnerable,” Angela whispered, raw, needy, wanting- “I should just- not be this vulnerable in front of you anymore.”

The sun peeked from behind the horizon - as if waking up, Moira’s soft smile turned into a smirk. 

“You underestimate me, dear,” she said. Afterwards, Angela would find herself thinking what did she mean by that.

The absence of an answer would haunt her for years. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Atlantic Ocean, January 2nd, 2077**

 

Sombra’s fingers were wrapped tight around her hand, even as she made a show of closing her eyes and trying to sleep. Angela shook her head fondly, plucking one headphone from her ears. 

“Scared?”

“Just wondering how many different ways this airplane has to kill us,” Sombra said, eyes still trained shut. Angela giggled. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. How many  _ are  _ there?”

“Iris is still running the math, but from what I’ve seen it’s over nine thousand,” she said, finally opening her eyes. “Eh, kinda grim, isn’t it? Sorry, _ Cielo _ . I’m just-”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. The airplane shook softly, and Sombra stared at the wide blue expanse of the Atlantic ocean, biting her lip. “Thinking.”

“You’ll have to elaborate better, I’m afraid. Mind reading technology is still a distant development.”

“I feel like I’m walking to the gallows,” Sombra whispered so softly she almost lost it - Angela paused, searching for her hand and squeezing it tightly. “Like I’m going back just to get the rope around my neck. It’s ride or die now, there’s not much left for me to do. Either Arke goes or I go. It was okay when I didn’t have anything to look forward to,” she said, turning back to Angela with tears in her eyes, lower lip wobbling, holding her fingers tightly. “How fucked up, isn’t it? That I get to die right when I get you back?”

Angela paused, mouth hanging open. 

“Of course you’re not-”

“Don’t say it,” Sombra whispered, pressing her index finger against her lips. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. “Don’t say it.  _ Please.  _ We both know it’ll take a miracle for that to happen. The odds are impossible.”

“I’ve worked with negative odds,” Angela insisted, but pressed a kiss to the pad of her finger anyways, pulling her hand closer to cradle it against her chest. “You need to have at least a  _ little _ hope-”

“I don’t care about me,  _ Cielo, _ ” Sombra sighed. “If I die, I die. What’s the point? Death is the end of it, I won’t have a problem with being dead. What I am worried about is giving  _ you _ hope. And then I’d die. That’d be fucked up.”

Angela considered it, taking in the soft curves of Sombra’s nose, the valley of her eye sockets, the roundness of her lips. 

“No,” She stated.

“Hm?” Sombra said, not quite processing what she heard. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” Angela said, drawing up Sombra’s full attention. She swallowed, feeling jittery, crumbly. “You don't get to decide when I should have hope or not. You don't get tell me what I can or can’t feel just because you're afraid of me being hurt later. That's my decision and my risk to take, and if I went all the way down to Mexico city it's because I knew what that would entail. And I'm here, no? I have dealt with far too much death to be afraid of it. If you die without letting me-  _ us, _ ” she stressed, gripping Sombra’s hand tightly. “If you die without letting us live what little time we have because we’re scared of the future, that’s what’s gonna make me upset the most. Not-” She swallowed thickly, “Not because I gave you all I got while I could.”

Sombra stared at her, slack-jawed, and Angela felt her face heating. She let herself fall on her seat, averting her eyes - there is a specific kind of shame that comes with spilling one’s guts to another, to unwillingly present one’s heart on a silver platter to be cared for or devoured. Angela knew that feeling well - the shame, the fear of the rejection and the hope of the acceptance. Her knees trembled, even as she willed them to silence. The airplane seats were deep red - she figured she right about that tone, color deepening by each second Sombra spent in shocked silence. 

Sombra closed her mouth. 

Angela held her breath.

“Olivia,” she said, at last, voice clipped. 

“What?” Angela said, confused.

Sombra stared at her - purple eyes, lilac hair, skin the color of the earth, inviting her to plant herself in as a seed and bloom like the intricate lines of her tattoos bloomed on her body. This is what it meant, then - to wish to be part of another. To be buried so deep you can never tell where each body begins. 

Sombra swallowed. 

“Olivia Colomar,” She said, voice quiet - heart on a silver platter, to be cared for or devoured. “That’s my name.” She shrugged, the sky in the window behind her a brightening shade of blue. The hour of the in-between and its truths. “I thought you should know.”

Outside of the window, the sun peeked behind the skyline. Angela kissed Sombra’s knuckles reverently. 

“That’s fitting.”

“My middle name is Guadalupe.”

“You are  _ shitting,” _ Angela wheezed, caught off-guard. 

“I swear,” Sombra smirked, “Olivia de Guadalupe Guerrero Colomar. Apparently it was a promise.” 

“You went full latina,  _ Schatzi, _ ” Angela cackled. 

_ “Estás pero si bien pendeja, no? _ ” Sombra said - and the sun gleaming on her face would carry her love well into the day. 

  
  


**Gibraltar, January 3rd, 2077**

 

“Hi!” Fareeha said, waving her hand to the both of them. Angela swallowed thickly, while Sombra watched her feet intently as her toes dug up in the sand. Gibraltar had some nice beaches, that much she knew, but it wasn’t as if she really had the time to enjoy them - this spot Sombra found, however, was especially nice. She could see the base in the distance, the setting sun turning windows into gleaming diamonds, casting lights on the blue mediterranean sea; Watchpoint looked as if risen from the ocean, a modern fantasy castle colored pink, orange and purple by the dusk sky. She loved it. 

She never wanted to set foot on it again. 

“Hey, Fareeha,” she said, sheepishly. “How did christmas go?”

“Oh you know,” she waved a hand, “I’m not talking to my mother  _ and _ Gabriel is an international criminal, so that was fun. I had dinner over Skype with Sam, made the old man happy,” she shrugged. “Torbjorn invited the  _ entirety _ of the Lindholms for the New Years, though-”

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” Angela said, in instinctive horror. 

“I got really wasted,” Fareeha laughed. “Brigitte pulled out the good stuff. Damn, the girl can hold her liquor. Anyways, how was yours?” 

“Um,” They both said in unison, uncomfortable with the question. 

“Um- Oh,” Fareeha said, tan skin suspiciously getting deep red undertones. “Okay. That was a shitty question, right?”

“Well yeah,” Sombra said, “I mean, you might be chill with it, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t awkward as hell.”

“Ow. Yeah. Sorry,” she scratched her head. “You said you wanted to talk to me about…?”

“Right,” Sombra said, clearing her throat. “So basically I spent a few days really digging into Athena to see how big the leak is, and I have good news and bad news.”

“Okay, hit me with the bad news.”

“All of Athena is compromised,” she said, gravely. “Like, there’s not a single like of code that doesn’t have A.R.K.E’s tendrils on it. It has all the information on all the agents, all of your plans, your secret hideouts, all the agents who still didn't manage to reach Watchpoint, you name it, it has everything. It’s as if A.R.K.E has Overwatch’s neck held by a noose, and it’s just waiting for the right time to kick the bucket.”

“ _ Goddamn it, _ ” Fareeha cursed, looking at the base in the horizon. The sun slowly made its way under the horizon, shimmering on the steel walls of the base. There was something about living in the middle of the sea, Gibraltar always smelled of rust and salt. It was Angela’s base, but she had a sudden recognition that this too was Fareeha’s home - where she spent her summer running after her mother and Gabriel, being doted on by every Overwatch member, and the last remaining link with her past, and it was ruined. 

How many times can you lose a single thing?

“I do hope you have good news,” she grimaced. “That’s a real shitty aglomerate of news.”

“Uh,” Sombra said, scratching her nape. “We might need help from your favorite hardlight architect.” 

Fareeha’s cheeks turned two shades redder - she cleared her throat, digging her heels into the sand. 

“Who is this architect?” Angela asked, annoyed. “Is this the same woman you mentioned back in Mexico City?”

“No one”, Fareeha said, quickly. 

“Satya Vaswani,” Sombra said, simultaneously, and Fareeha managed to look both horrified and embarrassed. 

“Oh?” Angela said, “The Vishkar prodigy?”

“You know about her, then?” Sombra asked. 

Angela shrugged. “I’ve met her once or twice at a beneficent gala or whatever. She doesn’t speak much, but people do tend to talk about her a lot. I didn’t know you were friends, Fareeha,” she said, dryly. 

“We aren’t” Fareeha spilled. “We just. Met once. In Casablanca. When I went after Gabriel? I helped her get a cab.” 

“You helped her get  _ a cab _ ,” Angela repeated, stunned. “If this is an euphemism, it’s a really terrible-”

“Angela,” Sombra said, sheepishly. “Do I need to remind you what we were doing while she was in Casablanca?”

Angela’s cheeks burned bright red, and she felt her turtleneck too tight for her neck. 

“ _ Awk-waaard, _ ” Fareeha muttered. “But. You know. Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m gonna need your help,” Sombra said. “I need you to message her and set a date-”

“Oh I’ve done that already,” Fareeha spilled. 

The silence between the three of them was so thick the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the sand was as sharp as a knife. 

“Oh  _ boy,”  _ Sombra said, at the same time Angela sent out an indignant “You  _ what?” _

“Hey!” Fareeha raised her hands defensively. “You did cheat on me and ran off to the sunset with your one true love. Fair’s fair, I’ve been messaging a girl, so what?” 

“She’s got a point, you know,” Sombra said, grimacing. “You better be real quiet about this,  _ Cielo. _ ”

Angela swallowed her hurt pride, crossing her arms over her chest. She was being a total bitch, and she knew as much - there was something about Fareeha moving on so fast that made her think that maybe she wasn’t as loved as she thought she was, which she rationally recognized, but did wound her pride. She swallowed it down, realizing she was damn near of a temper tantrum. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she swallowed. “I’m- sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Fareeha said, quietly, both intently not looking at each other. 

“Ooookay, then,” Sombra said, awkwardly. “Set up a date with her, because I need to know how to destroy an entire facility made of hardlight. Once that’s dealt with, I think I can get A.R.K.E. Maybe. Possibly.”

“In the meantime,” Angela said, eager to leave the complicated mess of feelings behind. “It’d be good for you to quietly empty the base-”

“You’ll have to do it on a one by one basis, you can’t risk any type of communication-”

“I mean, there’s not so many people anyways, so better stop the other agents from coming-”

“Angela will get on the base tomorrow to get me into a computer to see if I can disable a few protocols, it should make it easier-”

“Whoa,  _ whoa, wait right there, _ ” Fareeha said, stunned. “Are you telling me I have to evacuate Watchpoint?” 

Angela and Sombra looked at each other, pondering. This was it - the first step towards the unknown, the beginning of the end. 

When they left that beach, they would be on borrowed time. 

Sombra took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Yes,” Angela said, turning back to Fareeha. “As long as you’re inside Watchpoint, you’re as much as a hostage as it gets.”

Fareeha said nothing, merely looked over to the base. The sun was flickering out, the sky blue, dark and deep - Venus bright in the distance. 

“Okay then,” She said, gravely. “It seems Overwatch is going to be disbanded once more.” 

The weight of her words sunk Angela’s stomach to the floor. 

  
  
  


“Are you sure no one can hear you?” 

_ “Are you doubting me, Cielo?” _ Sombra said from her comm. Angela strode through the Gibraltar base, heavy steps clacking on the linoleum floor.  _ “I encrypted this myself. We’re fine.”  _

“Just checking,” She answered, nervously. “Run the plan by me again?”

_ “Bold of you to call this a plan,” _ Sombra snickered. _ “You just gonna get me into the system again so I can get the extent of the damage done to Athena. Either way, you pick up your stuff and let Fareeha know about what I can find. I guess she’ll decide if how she will evacuate the base - maybe we can get A.R.K.E before Athena goes to shit-” _

“I still can’t believe Athena has been compromised this whole time,” Angela whispered. 

_ “You believe in weirder things,”  _ Sombra replied.  _ “Where are you headed?” _

“My lab. I’m gonna pick up the Valkyrie before I talk to Fareeha.” 

_ “Good call,”  _ Sombra said.  _ “Okay, you have the drive. Plug it into your computer and let me work.”  _

“Sure,” Angela said, finally reaching the front door to her lab - she lowered herself to let her retina be scanned, and swallowed when she heard the soft  _ click _ of the door being unlocked. 

_ “Welcome back, Doctor Ziegler,” _ Said Athena from the ceiling - Angela cleared her throat. 

“Thank you, Athena,” she said. Her computer was still on - either an intern forgot to turn it off or in her haste to find Sombra she left it the way it was; knowing herself, it was probably the latter. She plugged the drive on the computer, watching anxiously the screen freeze, flicker white, and a small pink sugar skull pop on the lower screen. 

>I’M IN

>GET TO WORK

Angela rolled her eyes, turning back on her chair to get her suit-

“Hello, Angela.” 

There was a pair of flasks on a tray right in front of her. 

She picked one up and threw it on Moira’s direction before the red hair and the mismatched eyes caught her attention.

“What the hell?” Moira cursed, swaying away from the trajectory of the glass - it shattered on the wall, shards coating the rough wall with dust. “Are you crazy?”

“Are  _ you  _ crazy?” Angela shrieked. “What is wrong with you, sending another shapeshifter to get me?”

“Another- I’m not a shapeshifter!” Moira said, offended. “What is wrong with you?”

Angela stopped, second flask already in hand and gripped so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her features looked softer - her nose less pointy, her jaw less sharp, her cheekbones less pronounced, less of a caricature of herself. The same freckles were still on her nose, dusting over her fair skin. A few strands of silver peaked through fiery red strands. 

“You’ve started to gray,” she said, voice trembling. 

“Thank you for pointing the obvious fact that I am not getting any younger, Angela,” she said, dryly, and Angela recoiled as if hit. This she could remember - the slighting, the insulting, the lack of tact. Spending so much time around Sombra gave her some perspective, but there was something on Moira’s voice, with the way she ran her hands through her hair, the slightly askew tie under her thick coat, something in her smell and her presence that still rendered Angela’s knees week. She set the flask down, steadying herself on the glass top. There were many things she wanted to ask - none of which could form a coherent question in her mind before Moira herself spoke. 

“One of my assets went astray,” She said, vaguely. “A shapeshifter, as you said. Escaped my tank and the last localization I could find was here, at Gibraltar. I was wondering if you had any information on that.” 

Angela eyed her, mouth agape, not still quite grasping what was happening. Moira left her without even telling where she was headed to, and after years of complete radio silence, after allying herself with the enemy, after not even a note to tell her she was okay, she had waltzed right back into her office, questioning her as if it had been but a mere days since they saw each other. The corner of her eyes stung, and she swallowed. 

“Angela, you know how much I detest waiting for an answer.”

Her heart drummed away against her sternum. She gripped the edge of her desk tightly. 

“Why?” She croaked. 

“Why what?” Moira answered, arching an eyebrow. 

“ _ Why _ did- Why did you  _ come back _ ,” Angela wheezed. She could feel moisture pooling in her eyes, her heart so tight it felt like someone had it in a vice grip, choking it to death. How could the same heart hate and miss someone so  _ much,  _ to the point of suffocation - she felt it was difficult to breathe, vision tunneling at the edges. Moira paused, quirking her head to the side as if to try to make sense of Angela’s reaction. 

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” She said, plainly. Angela felt a sudden, barely controllable urge to snap her neck in half. “It’s been-”

“Nine years,” Angela said, hoarsely. “Nine years, four months and nine days.”

“I didn’t know you’ve been counting,” Moira said, taken aback. 

“What  _ do _ you know, Moira?” She barked, “What do you  _ think _ ? You’d leave after nearly compromising the entire organization, without- without saying  _ goodbye _ , without even bothering to tell me you were  _ leaving,  _ and then you’d just- waltz in here asking about whatever fucked up experiment you came up with this time? Were you hoping I’d developed  _ dementia? _ ” 

“You wouldn’t,” Moira said, quietly. “I took that out of you, remember?” 

Angela groaned, rolling her eyes and letting herself fall on her chair, rubbing her face. She needed a strong drink. Or clonazepam. Or-

Or Sombra. 

She closed her eyes, feeling the soft smell of lavender that became ingrained on her skin. She needed Sombra - her wit, her snark, her heart. Sombra was far more emotionally clever than she was, she would know how to deal with this. 

Moira, on the other hand…

“In my defense,” she said, dryly, but shifted uncomfortably in her feet. “For all I knew I was about to be court martialed. I’m sorry if I had other priorities than bid you farewell.”

“You had- Jesus, for all you are a genius you are really fucking dumb,” Angela said, staring at her, taking in her shape. The long legs, the hunched shoulders, the strands of silver amidst the fiery red strands of hair; the perpetual frown on her face, the lines around her eyes. Neither of them were getting any younger. And yet, Angela felt new, raw as scar tissue, as if she had just rid herself of the tumor-

And the tumor was staring right into her eyes. 

“You never did really know how to deal with people, did you,” She said, weakly. “You’re like- a reverse Midas. You ruin everything you touch. Whoever caught your interest, you’d utterly destroy them just because. Because that’s what you do, but- why  _ me?”  _ Her lower lip trembled slightly. “Why did you have to ruin  _ me? _ ”

“I didn’t come here to discuss feelings, Angela,” Moira said - she was, however, clearly shaken, twisting her fingers behind her back. “If I’d known you were searching for answers, I could’ve thought of one. But I got nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Angela spit. “I know what it is. I’m everything that you are not. And instead of trying to be better, you thought it was easier just do destroy me. That’s what you did. And you nearly succeeded. I almost- I almost gave in. I almost believed I wasn’t worthy of love because of  _ you. _ ” 

“That’s not it,” Moira protested. 

“Isn’t it?” She said - she felt her veins light up with rage, anger, hatred, longing and a love that had been buried so deeply for so long, and yet she could never forget it. Because she loved still - not like Sombra, not like Fareeha, not like she wanted Moira to be her own. But once you love someone that deeply, the feeling never really goes away. 

Lucio once told her  _ saudade _ was the love that remained. She never really grasped it until that moment - there was some love that clung to her bones, to the scar tissue around her heart, as if to remind her what she lived was real; that she had loved plenty. And loving plenty, when allowed, can change an entire life. 

Even if after comes the time of salt, not of sugar. 

“I loved you,” she said, feeling her rage suddenly evaporate as the words solidified her feelings. “I loved you so  _ much. _ And what hurts me is to know that I poured all that love down the drain. Because I wanted to make you happy, but- but that is useless. You will never be happy. You can never be happy. You absorb all the light in your life and destroy everything you touch. You are a  _ terrible _ human being, Moira,” Angela said, feeling as if chains lifted from her wrists as she said it, each word punctuated by a step closer, until she was right in front of her and could poke her in the chest. “I thought for so long I was as bad as you are, and that was why you couldn’t get enough of me. But that’s not it. I fuck up and I make my mistakes but I’m a  _ good person. _ And that’s why I get to be happy. And you won’t.”

Moira stared at her owlishly, shaken. She blinked once, twice, and raised her hand to her eye plate to get it removed, showing the deep angry red scar underneath. 

“Shrapnel,” she whispered, quietly. “I lost the eye, but there’s still-”

And Angela, for the first time in her life, for her complete and utter shock, saw a tear rolling down Moira’s cheek. 

She took a step back, stunned - the silence was deafening as Moira stared at the floor, trying to gather her words. It was too easy to think her a monster, a narcissist, a psychopath, even - the hard part, the part that hurt deeply in the marrow of her bones, was to see her like this - open, honest, raw, unsure how to proceed, utterly  _ human _ . It had felt a privilege to see the mighty Moira O’Deorain being vulnerable. 

The love that remains. Like scarred tissue over one’s heart. 

Moira opened and closed her mouth over and over before she could speak.

“You were the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she whispered, eyes low. “You were too- Beautiful. Perfect. Loving. I didn’t deserve you, but I wanted you so bad, I- I know.  I know I can’t love things without breaking them apart and seeing what makes them tick. That’s just how I’m wired, I guess. You have to understand.”

“I don’t,” Angela said, shakily. “I don’t have to understand anything. You  _ ruined _ me, Moira. It’s been hell putting myself back together again, and you don’t get to ruin  _ that _ just to feel better about yourself.”

“What do you want of me?” Moira said, weakly. 

Recognition, love, respect, empathy, she couldn’t say it. It’d be pitiful asking for things she wouldn’t get - Angela learned that lesson when she was a kid sitting alone in a church of a small Swiss village asking please,  _ please,  _ for her parents to still be alive. 

“I want you to leave,” she said. “I want you to forget I ever existed. I want you to let  _ go  _ of me.”

Moira eyed her - eyes wide, hurt, so deeply sad, she wanted to cradle her head to her chest and will all of the pain away. But how she had tried it before, and all for nothing. It was time to leave. The scars had to fade away one day. 

“I see,” she said, weakly. “I’m-”

She didn’t get to finish it - the roof of the room shifted, the metal tiles folding into each other as two turrets pointed straight at the both of them. Angela eyed it warily, taking a step back. 

“Athena, disengage,” she shouted- 

_ “I’m sorry, Angela,” _ Athena said - but it wasn’t Athena, its voice soft and sickly sweet, and yet completely devoid of any emotion. The turrets shook.  _ “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”  _

_ “ _ Angela? _ ” _ Moira asked, but Angela didn’t answer - she looked at her computer screen, where an desperate Sombra kept typing. 

> GET OUT 

> GET THE FUCK OUT 

> THERE WAS A LEAK ARKE IS IN THERE 

> ATHENA IS GONE

> ANGELA GET OUT

The turrets stirred as if they were animals ready to attack - she felt something cold trailing down her spine, gripping her guts tightly as it froze her stomach, blood rushing in her ears, the doors still open, the windows shutting close one by one, and she had to go, she had to go-

“Oh no,” she said, dread filling her stomach with cold, and she gripped Moira’s wrist tightly. “Come on, we have to leave  _ now- _ ” 

_ “I honestly, truly didn’t think you’d come back,” _ said the same voice. Deeper, raspier, infinitely more dangerous.  _ A.R.K.E _ .  _ “If I'd known you'd let yourself get captured this easily, I'd have just dangled a turkey leg on a rope from the ceiling. No time now. Goodbye, Angela.” _

The turret aimed at Moira’s head. 

The world moved in slow motion as she pushed Moira out of the way- 

The sound of a gun, the sudden blast of light, the smell of gunpowder, the heat-

She felt pain blooming on her chest, and the world faded to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be fair throughout these past months i 
> 
> got a job  
> wrote a thesis  
> defended a thesis  
> wrote my masters proposal  
> wrote two other fics so y'all wouldn't think i hate moira  
> generally freaked out because being an adult is so hard 
> 
> be kind with me


	10. breezeblocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My intent was writing and posting this much earlier. In fact, in my original draft, they would all go to Switzerland or what not and this story would be much shorter. 
> 
> However, the elections happened, and I spent many months bone dry of ideas and hope for the future. Many of you don’t know, but my real life self is a Lawyer and a human rights activist, and I’ve been working nonstop to make sure the struggle will still carry on despite adversities - but in the end I was (and I am) just so tired. Writing became increasingly difficult, and this story in particular for some reason became even more of a difficulty to put out than the rest.
> 
> Buttons (as always) was the one who gave me the idea for transforming this piece of fanfiction not only in something that could help me heal, but also something that could make my love for this country, this people and the struggle prevail, instead of letting my weariness silence me. The next few chapters are not only a continuation of this story, but they are deeply political, and in being political they are also a love letter to all I’ve ever known in my life and all that made me who I am today - my city, my university, my people, my culture and specially my country. 
> 
> I hope you love them as much as I do too.

_ Muscle to muscle and toe to toe _

_ The fear has gripped me but here I go _

_ My heart sinks as I jump up _

_ Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut _

  
  


**Oasis, September 30th, 2073**

 

When the email appeared on her inbox, she noticed a few things: first, that it well into three in the morning; two, that since it was 3AM, it had been 32 hours since she last ate and some good 70 hours since she last slept and three, that it had been exact five years since she left Blackwatch. 

The realization left a sour taste in her mouth. Overwatch had been disbanded two years prior, so there was no  _ Overwatch _ left to look into her work or her life choices. Or so she thought - the email address blinking in bright blue letters was clear enough:  [ angela.c.ziegler@msf.org.ch ](mailto:angela.c.ziegler@msf.org.ch) . 

No matter if the line didn’t read MERCY#1774, or if it wasn’t Zurich - Moira felt instantly sucker punched into the past, when Angela would email her even the most trivial of questions; she barely touched her communicator, and Angela was the only one who was savvy enough to realize she would probably notice if something popped up on the screen she was working on. 

Sometimes, when she was all alone at her Oasis house, only her dog Oscar as company, she’d slowly stir a glass of whiskey under the moonlight, wondering if there was still a way to recover all of those  emails they’d exchanged. It was a backlog of their relationship - from serious inquiries to silly pictures, it was all written in the hundreds of pages worth of messages. She figured they would have deleted all of them when she left Blackwatch. Probably. But she still wondered if she could reach it and read over the undeniable proof she once had a relationship with another human - and that the human in question was none other than Angela Ziegler. 

She hovered her mouse over the email. The subject read  _ “I hope you’re not involved with this” _ , in a menacing tone that indicated not only that she was probably chest deep into whatever it was, but Angela knew as much as well. Moira made a mental calculation of how much energy would it take to open it, read it, process it and answer it, and decided that if it was really urgent Angela would have called, and she should really call it a day and head home for her bed. Oscar snored softly from where he lay on her feet. 

Her curiosity would be the death of her, and she mumbled those same words incessantly to herself when she clicked on the email.

 

from:  [ angela.c.ziegler@msf.org.ch   
](mailto:angela.c.ziegler@msf.org.ch) to:  [ odeorain@genetics.gov.oa ](mailto:odeorain@genetics.gov.oa)

Subject: I hope you’re not involved with this

 

Moira, 

I had the oddest encounter with someone who looked dangerously enough like Gerárd’s missing wife. It would probably be a carbon copy, if Widowmaker (as she called herself) weren’t as blue as a blackberry and insanely homicidal. She killed four guards before escaping, and very nearly killed me.

You have nothing to do with this, right? You wouldn’t  _ know _ nothing about this, would you?

I don’t know why I’m even asking, but I just want to get this out of my mind.

  
  


Moira snorted so loudly Oscar raised his head, clearly upset at his interrupted nap. If she knew anything about it? Only the wreck Talon scientists had made of Lacroix’s body to ensure her compliance, right before Reyes brought her in. She was pretty sure Lacroix would be dead and buried if not for her intervention, and while Angela was adamantly against her methods after they parted ways, she could never deny their effectiveness - Angela was lovely, but she was a huge hypocrite. The blockage to emotional response was the way she found to stop Amélie from offing herself out of guilt and trauma. It worked for Talon, for Reyes and for Lacroix, who became much more stable after her procedures. 

She clicked  _ answer _ and was halfway through typing a detailed answer when she paused, considering. Angela didn’t send the email because she needed a hand on a difficult problem - she did it to give herself some peace of mind that even years later, Moira was still being kept under a leash. Oscar yawned, getting up and resting his head on her thigh, and she rubbed his chin, considering. 

It didn't matter what she said, Angela would never see her actions in a positive light. It didn’t matter if Lacroix was taken to carve her own flesh with her teeth, a millisecond away from complete insanity, or even if in solving the butched science the incompetent bunch at Talon did to her made her a more efficient asset. There was a level of brilliance and resourcefulness Angela could achieve if she just let her mind run freely, and yet. 

She searched the inner pockets of her coat for a cigarette, pondering. For all the time they spent together, she never really quite grasped Angela. When she thought she had her figured out, that she could read all of her actions and understand all of her reasonings, she would change the rules of the game - something that would make her smile one day would leave her miserable the next. Moira could never really get past her own diminished emotional ability to comprehend her moods. 

But curiosity would be the death of her. And she found herself yearning to please, and becoming increasingly distraught when her best intentions were completely misunderstood - there was always something she couldn’t really understand about human interaction that made everything go haywire even when she tried her best. It was a dance she could never learn the steps to. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t, even her silence meant things she couldn’t control. The mere thought brought shivers to her spine. 

The email stared at her, unwavering. What use would it be if she answered? Angela would most certainly have lots of opinions about her work, as she always did, and she would be left confused once again on  _ why _ she reacted like so. It tightened her heart just so, and she lit up her cigarette absently. This was a test she wasn’t sure she could pass. 

And Moira detested failing. 

She took a deep breath and dragged the email to the trash, and when she got up from her seat, snapping at Oscar to follow her, she tried very hard to convince herself she couldn’t fail tests she didn’t take. 

  
  


**???, January 3rd, 2077**

Moira was a geneticist. That was an important aspect to keep at the forefront of one’s mind, and something she often  _ happily _ reminded herself of, in her genetics lab, surrounded by geneticist tools, none of which bled and screamed. 

Much.

Therefore, her current situation was, to put it mildly, less than ideal, and why in the name of fuck the traumatologist had decided to get shot over the geneticist would forever elude her.

“Holy shit,” Amari cursed from the control cabin, hands shivering where they gripped the controls tightly, “Holy  _ fucking  _ shit-”

The thing was. As a Geneticist, Moira knew basic life support, but only barely. She knew enough of it to remember the basic mnemonic, designed by orthopedists - and, therefore rudimentary effective.

A was for airways, and she should check for obstruction. Now, Moira knew for a fact that while Angela did not choke on anything, that the bullet that pierced through her lungs was bound to bleed inside her chest cavity and prevent her lungs from expanding and, eventually, stop her heart from beating altogether. What she did not remember was whether hemotorax fell inside the "A" category or-

A monitor beeped angrily, and Moira cursed loudly in Irish. 

_ B, _ Moira chimed at herself as she reached out for a scalpel. B was for breathing, which Angela currently was, and thank God for Angela insisting on placing a small but eerily efficient medical station inside each dropship, but the point was said Angela was, most definitely, breathing, but Moira could see the effort it took on muscles between her ribs and on the gap between her collarbones and she wasn't sure for how long she would be able to -

_ Where the fuck, _ Moira thought to herself, wondering if her expression betrayed her absolute inability to do what was required of her,  _ do I puncture the hemothorax- _

Halfway through the clavicle, she knew. Or thought she knew. Was it between the 5th and the 6th rib? The 6th and the 7th? Couldn't anyone get a Geneticist a little access to internet?

“For fuck’s sake,” she whispered to herself.

Moira pressed the scalpel against Angela's skin and hoped for the best as she grabbed a tube and passed it through. She turned around, looking for micropore tape to fixate it with - what was Sombra doing inside her fucking sterile field - and when she turned back she saw volumes of blood draining through the tube. 

Angela's respiratory effort seemed to lessen. That was good. Angela's blood pressure was currently 90/50 and her heart rate hit 150. 

That was bad.

She needed volume - even a geneticist knew that. Moira turned to Sombra, who was watching the scene unfolding in front of her like a hawk. "Get me a blood bag, or a saline bag, or... Ringer's Lactate, whichever you find first." Sombra opened a cabinet, grabbed a bag -  _ sterile field!! _ \- and handed it over to her. Moira held it for a full second before realizing her next problem.

_ How do I puncture a fucking venous access- _

She knew where to puncture it, at least. It took her a couple tries - more than a couple - but the wave of relief that took her when Angela's vitals stabilized was sweeter than anything she could think of. 

For however long that stability lasted, that was. She had been damn lucky and she knew it. Hydric balance? Vasoactive amines? Moira knew fuckall about any of that, and Angela would be needing someone who did very soon.

She let herself fall next to the wall, breathing heavily. The dropship was as loud as she remembered, and yet she would never get used to the roaring noise of its turbines. She hated it when she was Blackwatch, when she was Talon and even now. If not for the sound of the engines and the incessant beep of Angela’s monitors, the plane was so silent one could hear a pin drop. 

Amari pressed a few buttons on the control panel and took off her earmuffs. Her mouth was one thin line of anger and anxiety, and she slid off the control cabin wearily. She was so tall, she could barely stand straight inside the ship - a problem Moira was too familiar with. 

“I’ve got news,” she said, clipped. “Lena and Mother have reached the safehouse in Nice. Torbjörn and Winston are almost near his private safehouse in Siberia. He said Genji will be joining him soon. McCree said he was going to find us allies back in the U.S, and is somewhere in Arizona. The rest of the agents are scattered, but as far as I know, we’re mostly all safe. By a goddamn  _ miracle _ .” 

The short black man in dreadlocks in front of her sighed in relief, and Amari let herself sag against a wall, exhausted.

“No dead?” He asked. 

“A few,” she answered, bitterly. “I mean, I have no idea whose idea was to install those goddamn turrets-”

“Your mother’s,” Sombra said from where she sat, clinging to one of Angela’s hands tightly. She hadn’t moved her eyes away from her face, nor had she stopped crying ever since Moira climbed out of the Lab, carrying a heavily wounded Angela on her shoulder to ease the strain on her weak knees. The entire base seemed to be a warzone, the kind she was the most familiar - the kind that wasn’t supposed to be a warzone in the first place. Like Venice, she could see smoke coming out from every nook and cranny in Gibraltar, the sound of shots and screams only matched by the occasional dead body blocking her way. She knew Amari was deliberately downplaying the situation - but what for? 

“I am honestly not even surprised,” Amari said, letting her head fall back to the wall. “I mean, why  _ not _ , am I right?”

“I don’t know,” Sombra said, and sniffed. Moira couldn’t stop looking at where she held Angela’s fingers tightly, her golden skin a stark contrast to Angela’s pale hand. Why was Sombra in there in the first place? Why does she know Angela? Why did she become so affected when she saw Angela limp in her arms? And most of all, why didn’t any of the Overwatch members think that there was something amiss? 

She couldn’t muster the energy to answer all of those questions. Stabilizing Angela took enough of its toll, taking all of her healing capabilities and then some. She felt her mouth dry, and ran her hands through her hair before realizing she was still wearing sterile latex gloves covered in blood, and she had just smeared that all over her face and hair. Angela wouldn’t die in the foreseeable future, but she did need some urgent medical care. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” she said, feeling oddly self conscious when three pairs of eyes snapped to her direction. 

“You are already intruding,” Sombra snarked. “You weren’t even supposed to  _ be _ here.” 

“Perish the thought,” Moira said, raising an eyebrow. “You’d come back to a dead Angela. I don’t know why, but you seem to consider that a problem, no? Despite what Talon might believe-”

Sombra’s face contorted in an expression of pure rage, and she stood from where she crouched down, as a feline ready to pounce. “You  _ disgusting, depraved hija de-” _

“Sombra!” Amari called, standing up in one fluid motion. 

“She always ruins everything, Amari!” Sombra shouted, indignantly. “She ruined Angela, she ruined our mission, who’s to say she isn’t with Arke in her plan? What if she is-”

“What I know,” Amari said, not quite yelling, but her voice resonated all around the ship. “Is that no  _ one  _ is happy with this arrangement. I am definitely  _ not _ happy with how it turned out, so this isn’t your privilege. But what I also know is that O’Deorain might be a bitch, but she’s the bitch keeping Angela alive. So you better shut up and help us fix this mess before I make you.”

Sombra widened her eyes, but said nothing - swallowing, she nodded, sitting back where she was. 

“As for you,” Amari turned to moira, one finger up. “If you try to be funny with us one more time, I can promise you I don’t need a gun to be dangerous. What did you want?” 

“What I was trying to say,” Moira said, dryly. “Was that we can’t just fly aimlessly while Angela is in here. She needs complete medical care as fast as we can get it. Where is the plane going?”

Amari looked at her intently, but rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I set the plane to Numbani-”

“Too much technology,” Sombra sniffed. “Arke can find us easily.” 

Who was Arke, anyways?

“True that,” Amari groaned, “But where can we find a place that isn’t completely reliant on technology, but can still give her the type of care she needs? It’s not like-”

“You know,” the black man said, sheepishly. “I might just know the place.”

“Lucio?” Sombra asked, turning to him. “You sure?” 

“It’s not like people will search us  _ there _ ,” he said, shrugging. “I’m not sure most people are even aware of its existence. The care is good and we can keep a low profile. Fareeha, if I give you the coordinates, how fast can we get there?” 

“As fast as this ship will have it,” Amari said. 

“Which is very fast,” Moira mumbled, equal parts relieved and displeased. There was blood all over her clothes, she could smell in on her face, and she hated the whiplash of the ship with all her soul. “Whatever. As long as she gets in a clean surgery room within the next few hours, that should be enough.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Lúcio said. “Imma let my Ma know we’re coming.”

  
  
  


**???, January 4th, 2077**

They landed in a pasture just as the sun began peeking behind the clouds, mist covering the mountains on the horizon line. For a split second Moira thought herself back in Ireland, standing in a green grass meadow covered in fog, but quickly enough found herself somewhere else - somewhere she wasn’t familiar with. The trees twisted and turned in unfamiliar patterns around them, and the faint noise of water falling down was the telltale sign they were near a waterfall. She quickly realized she had never actually seen a waterfall in person, but the sense of wonder and curiosity got quickly replaced by a sense of dread when she noticed she was very much near a forest - the opposite of what Angela needed at that very moment. 

“I thought you said you were taking us to a place where she could get medical attention,” Moira snarked at Lucio as soon as he came down the dropship. “Are you hiding cutting-edge medical resources between the trees, I wonder?”

“O’Deorain, don’t be an asshole,” Amari said, clipped. 

“I think it’d hurt her if she stopped,” Lúcio said, shrugging. “Imagine if you landed a military-level dropship in the middle of Dublin. Would the government take that nicely?” 

“No, but Dublin is an actual city, with actual hospitals,” she said, dryly. 

“So is Belo Horizonte,” he gave her a thumbs up. “Chill. We’re half an hour away from a hospital anyhow.”

“Half an hour?” Sombra asked, wheeling Angela down from the ship as Amari helped. “This doesn’t look like we’re half an hour away from a city.” 

“Well, we’re not. We’re an hour or so away, but I can make it in less,” Lucio said. “Mom should be here anytime- There,” he said, pointing to the unmistakable pair of headlights pointing at a road in the horizon. The deep blue sky gradually shifted to brighter shades of cyan, and Moira had one fleeting thought that she was, in fact, very much overheated, and that if before dawn her nape was already that hot, she dreaded to think what midday would be like. 

The holocar parked smoothly in front of them, and a small black lady jumped out of it. 

“Okay, all of you, hurry up,” she shooed them in a thick accent, but not before placing a kiss on Lucio’s forehead. “The road will get awful in just a few minutes. You all better run now- why is she yellow?” 

Moira looked down on Angela to see, to her immense horror, that she was indeed becoming yellow by the minute. 

She had to summon the only two of her brain cells assigned to clinical skills to process the information, and it took her some good ten seconds to go from “ _ is this colestatic or hemolytic”  _ to “ _ of course it’s hemolytic, no one gets jaundiced that fast from colestasis”  _ to  _ “God help me, Angela is going to die”.  _

That was the exact moment her brain cells also reminded her that a bullet in thorax was most definitely not a reason for hemolysis, whatever the trouble she’d anticipated was, the reality was far worse. Feeling the blood drumming in her ears, she pulled Angela’s eyelids open, inspecting her sclera. Sure enough, a pale-yellow tone told her that there was not enough fluid in the world that could save a person from having all their red blood cells exploding in plain sight.

Her mind became a whirlwind of possible reasons that could explain the rapid deterioration of Angela’s state  - had the bullet ricocheted? Or had her absolute incapacity at general practice made Angela’s situation worse than what already was? And why, in the most holy name of Jesus, was Angela hemolytic?

“Well fuck me sideways in a church,” she cursed, turning to Lúcio. “I hope you can make those thirty minutes in fifteen.”

  
  


**Belo Horizonte, January 4th, 2077**

The hospital’s walls were a hideous shade of pale turquoise. 

In hindsight, she wondered why  _ that _ was what stuck out the most in her memory. Making a scene in the early hours of the morning as soon as they wheeled into the hospital, the yelling, the pushing, the bright white lights and the sticky humid heat all passed through her in a whirlwind, but sitting in the hallway, a cold cup of coffee in her hands and covered in dried blood, she was forced to stare at the wall and notice the absolutely terrible shade they had painted the walls with. Moira wondered if any of the others also felt that way, but deciding against asking - sitting side by side as if outside the principal’s office waiting for their punishment, there was not a single word exchanged between them, and the only sound in the room was the uncomfortable plastic chairs they were forced to wait on creaking under their weight.

She shifted in her place, uncomfortable. She’d kill for a shower, feeling her skin rising in goosebumps at the smell and feel of the blood on her. People rushed past them all the time, barely giving them a second glance as they wheeled gurneys or sprinted to their destination. Moira wondered if the odd group they made would be a source of scrutiny, but the staff at that hospital simply did not care. Rationally speaking, it was a good thing. But Moira had never not been the center of the attention wherever she went, and the feeling of being overlooked sat awkwardly in her stomach. 

She leaned her head back, sighing. She detested the environment of hospitals, but lived well enough within them to have a deep understanding of how they worked - it was all, she remembered, about the flowcharts. Classifying risk? Flowchart. Patient in shock? Flowchart for that. Someone showing up bleeding to death and in the approximate shade of an overripe  banana? Flowchart. Maybe - or so she hoped.

Angela would be in the surgery room by then, which left her with nothing to do but wait. And God, how  _ terrible _ she was at waiting - in hoping they’d be able to handle the situation, she found herself wondering, in her idleness, how would  _ she  _ handle the situation. Blood transfusions, for sure, she thought as she worried her lower lip. Plasmapheresis? How high must her bilirubin have been when they finally got her there and would her organs survive? Would her  _ brain _ survive? 

_ Do adults get kernicterus or is that only for newborns, _ she thought as she stood up and started pacing up and down the hallway, eyes trained on the checkered floor and feet instinctively skipping all of the white tiles.  _ No, it is definitely a neonatal issue, they had a terrible blood-brain barrier.  _ She reached one end of the hall and spinned on her heels.  _ But what if whatever induced hemolysis also hit her blood-brain barrier?  _  Moira walked back.  _ But then wouldn’t she have meningism? I should have tested for meningism. Actually, no, I couldn’t have tested for it, I didn’t know whether the bullet had hit her spine. Unless I could do the leg one - Kernig? Brudzinski? But no, that would force her to bend her neck- _

“O’deorain,” Amari groaned, “Could you just. Please. Stop?” 

Moira came to a halt, turning on her heels to see Amari rubbing her temples tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, wryly, “I didn’t know thinking was so disruptive to your well-being, Amari.” 

“Think all you want, just cut the damn pacing,” She said, sighing. “Besides, we do have more pressing questions to answer. Such as, we’re illegally using the health services of a foreign country and we don’t have a single story to cover our asses. Or a single penny to pay for all of  _ this _ -”

“Pay?” Lúcio chimed in, arching an eyebrow.

“Well yes,” Amari said. “We have to pay for the service at any given point, no?”

“No?” he said, confused. “This is a public hospital. You don’t pay in a public hospital.” 

“Are you saying,” Moira said, “That they will give her treatment here, and save her life, and we won’t have to pay a dime?” 

“Yes.”

“Even if she’s a foreigner?” 

“Yes,” Lucio arched an eyebrow.

“Even if we give a fake name?”

“I would think so,” he shrugged, “Hospitals tend to look for the homeless, and they sometimes don’t have their own identification to provide. I’d think they just roll with it.” 

“I don’t understand,” Amari said, sheepishly. 

“It’s universal health care, Fareeha,” Lúcio said. “It means everyone gets coverage. It’s kinda shitty sometimes, I’m not gonna lie, but some places are better than private hospitals. This bad boy here, for example?” He knocked on the hideous turquoise walls. “Best trauma hospital in Latin America. Won’t charge you a dime for it.” 

The four of them were in silence for a moment, stunned. 

“Well,” Sombra offered, sniffing. Moira had never seen Sombra this quiet - the tears kept falling down her face even without any apparent effort from her. “We still need a cover.”

“Leave it to me,” Lúcio said. “I’ll say we were in a Baile Funk-”

“Really?” Sombra rolled her eyes. 

“And there was a shooting, and she got shot, and we brought her here.  _ Pronto,  _ done.” 

“This is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard in my life,” Moira said, dryly.

“They’ll buy it,” Lúcio winked. “Believe me. Weirder things have happened in this hospital. Oops, here she comes-” he said, pointing his chin at the door opening to reveal the same on call doctor that had helped them when they first arrived. Her scrubs were the same color of the hideous walls, but Moira finally found herself in a headspace to notice her - a short white woman with straight brown hair tied up her head in a messy bun. She looked as tired as Moira felt, but incredibly more done with the entire situation than any of them could be, which was a statement in itself.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, thick accent rounding her vowels. Her voice was hoarse and low, and the bags under her eyes were dangerously close to black. That was a woman after Moira’s own heart - that is, lacking any patience and extremely sleep deprived. “The surgery is still going on, but we’ve stabilized her. However, she is extremely jaundiced, and we will need to collect some history to know how to proceed from here. So, first. What happened?” She said, removing her mask from her face and pulling a pen from her pocket. 

“I took the three of them to get to know my community,” Lúcio said, “Baile Funk. There was a shooting-”

“Oh, right,” she said, nodding. “The one at Pedreira Prado Lopes, you mean?”

“Right,” he said, without skipping a beat. 

“That one got us three cases already, and it's not even lunchtime,” she sighed, shaking her head, thick accent rounding her vowels. “So, when it comes to her history-”

“You can speak English?” Moira blurted. The doctor merely eyed her dryly, raising one eyebrow, and Sombra groaned loudly.

“It may shocking to you, but most scientific literature is written in english,” she said, wryly. “And even more surprising, we do have working internet connection and a half decent education system. Anyhow, my colleagues back in there need a little bit more history to go on. Her name is-”

“Cate,” Amari said, hurriedly. “Cate Schmitt.” 

“Okay,” the doctor noted down. “Date of birth?” 

“August 29th, 2039,” Sombra sniffed. 

“Right. Is any of you her partner?”

“Me,” the four of them said in unison. There was a pregnant pause, a moment of shocked silence-

“I’m sorry?” The doctor asked. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ O’Deorain!” Sombra yelled, jumping out from her seat to grab her by the collar, but being held in place by an aptly positioned Amari. “Fareeha I get, but  _ you? _ What the fuck you think you’re saying?” 

“Why aren’t you complaining about Lúcio?” She said, raising her hands. “He said he was her partner too!” 

“I don’t hate Lúcio’s guts, that’s why!” She shrieked. “Lúcio didn’t fuck with Angie six ways to sunday,  _ that’s why! _ Of all the people in the room-”

“Sombra,” Amari pleaded. 

“ _ You _ are the one who was supposed to shut the  _ fuck up-! _ ”

“Hey. Hey!” The doctor yelled, surprisingly loud for someone of her size. “ _ Not _ the place, not the time!  _ Porra de casos de família no fim do plantão, bicho _ ,” she cursed in portuguese - Lúcio snickered.

“Okay,” Amari said, “I’m really sorry, Doctor-” 

“Carol,” she answered, dryly. 

“Okay, Doctor Carol,” She nodded,, sheepishly. “It’s been, you know. A long day.” 

“...okay,” Carol said, and noted something down on her clipboard. “So was miss Schmitt taking any medications?”

_ She had some cutting edge nanotech implants on her, _ Moira thought, and then hesitated. “Not that I know of.”

“Alprazolam,” Amari answered.

“Any drugs?” the doctor interrupted.

“No,” Moira said. 

“She was really hitting the liquor hard,” Sombra said. “For the past months or so.”

“Okay,” Carol said, noting it down. “Anything else?” 

The four of them went silent.

“It’s okay, you can tell,” she insisted. When she was met with silence, Carol sighed. “Look, you seem educated enough. You come up to me with a patient who’s both shot and  _ yellow _ . Now correct me if I’m wrong, you -” she paused to count them, “ - you four were doing something. Some party or anything of the sort. Substances were used. One person was shot. Now I don’t care about what is going on with your, uh,  _ personal _ issues, but I really need to know what the hell did she take. And if it gives you some peace of mind, I’m not gonna call the cops. I don’t  _ want _ to call the cops. My shift ends in three hours and if I call them I’ll be stuck here for six more, so. You help me, I’ll help you.”

“Nothing we know of-” Moira began, but Sombra cut her short.

“I have a feeling the bullet might’ve been tampered with.”

“Tampered?” both Moira and the doctor said at the same time.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” Sombra snarked. “All I know is Ana was trying out some new bioweapons-” 

“ _Ah pronto,_ ” Carol sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. You have no idea what this bioweapon can be?” When Sombra shrugged, the doctor groaned loudly and scribbled something down, then faced her again. “What about pre-existing conditions, did she have any?”

Now that was a little too much - the fact that the on-call physician had decided  _ Sombra _ was a better informant than she was really hit her where it hurt the most - that is, her ego. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Doctor,” she said, interrupting her. “I’m the doctor responsible for her primary care.” 

Carol eyed her from head to toe, and arched an eyebrow. 

“Is that so,” she turned. “Fantastic. Was she diabetic?”

“Not that I know-”

“Hypertensive? Sickle cell anemia? Thalassemic?”

“I don’t think so-”

“Allergies? Lupus or any autoimmune diseases? What kind of doctor are you anyway?”

“No, no, and I’m a geneticist,” she replied, dryly. The corners of Carol’s lips trembled slightly, as if she was making a conscious effort not to smile.

“Oh,  _ that _ explains the puncture,” Carol muttered, and then her face lit up. “Was she G6PD deficient? Or uh, what was the other one…”

“Pyruvate-kinase?” Moira suggested.

“Yes! That one. Well, was she?”

“Not really?”

Carol put away her pen and sighed. “I’ll have a student come down here and get a complete history at some point. We’ll keep her on the intensive care unit. We ran her on plasmapheresis and it slowed down whatever the hell was inducing so much hemolysis, but we’ll have to keep her here until we’re sure it’s stopped-”

“What did she say,” Sombra whispered.

“I don’t know,” Lúcio whispered back.

“How low was it?” Moira called. “The hemoglobin?”

Carol checked it on her papers. “Three point four but we got it back to six after four blood bags.”

_ Three point four _ , Moira swallowed.  _ Jesus fucking christ. _

“I don’t understand a single word that has just been exchanged,” Amari said. 

“I’ll put it simply,” Carol said. “Whatever they laced the bullets with caused her red blood cells to spontaneously burst open, and so they couldn’t carry the oxygen to the rest of the body. Her organs were failing, all at once. To top it all off, when cells burst open they release something toxic, and so not only her body was suffocating, it was also being poisoned.”

A thick silence fell in the room as the reality of Angela’s near death sunk into them. But before any of them could say anything else, they were interrupted by a flustered nurse, who tapped the doctor on the shoulder and spoke in rapid Portuguese, worriedly. Carol answered just as fast, and turned back to Moira. 

“How sterile was your procedure?” 

“We were leaving a warzone,” Moira said, clipped, “Do the math.” 

Lúcio planted his face on his hand so hard the sound echoed along the hallway. Carol paused, blinked twice and licked her lips.

“I had a feeling Miss Schmitt wasn’t really called Miss Schmitt, to be honest.”

The four of them fell in a stunned silence.

“How?” Lúcio asked, taken aback.

“There was no shooting at Pedreira Prado Lopes,” Carol winked. “Can I have the real history, now?” 

“Doctor Carol, Ma’am,” Amari said, gravely, “The answer to that question can land you in some big,  _ big _ trouble.”

She paused, eyeing all of them. The weird clothes, the mismatched faces and the worry stamped in their eyes. Carol sighed. 

“Whatever,” she said, finally, turning back to the nurse, and Moira could distinctly hear the words  _ meropenem _ and  _ vancomycin _ . Antibiotics, the strong ones. “You don’t wanna tell, I don’t wanna know. I said my shift is ending in three hours and I  _ mean _ it. We’ll be back with more updates, but I think I speak for the entire staff when I say any sort of personal drama is to be kept  _ outside _ the hospital. Oh, and Miss Geneticist?” Carol said, and offered a smile so sickly sweet Moira was nearly nauseous just by looking at it. “It’s the mid- _ axillary _ line, not the mid- _ clavicular _ line. Fourth and fifth ribs. But, uh, nice try I suppose. You got lucky there. Could’ve killed her. Maybe an ATLS review would be in order?”

Before Moira could reply, Carol and the nurse turned on their heels back into the operation room, and she felt the tips of her ears burning in shame.

“Wow, good thing we’re in a trauma hospital,” Amari whistled. “You sure gonna need some help with that burn.”

  
  
  


Rain was pouring down the street around lunchtime - Moira knew this because Sombra started an argument at the snack bar that ended with Amari shooing the both of them out of the hospital. But it was pouring down with such a violence they had nowhere to go but under the marquise of the building, each one cradling their own cigarette and standing in complete silence. 

The city roared around them. From where she stood, she could see the busy avenue right in front of the hospital, lined with thick trees that covered the entire street in their shade. Ambulances wheeled quickly up and down, but the rain seemed to have quieted the busy flow of pedestrians that were sure to overflow the streets. It was quite beautiful, if she had to say it for herself - she wondered how it must be with the sun, the light filtering through the thick dark green leaves to create a mosaic of sun rays on the asphalt. The outside of the Hospital was very nice, she had to admit. 

“Why did you come back?” Sombra said, clipped. Moira didn’t answer it right away - she took another drag of her cigarette, tasting the smoke. 

“One of my assets went missing,” she said, simply. “The last location I could find was in Gibraltar. No one at Talon had tampered with it, so I decided to investigate on my own. Are you betraying Talon?” 

“I don’t remember giving you the leeway to ask me questions,” Sombra snarked, but sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t care for Talon one way or the other. What I care is for the entity behind Talon’s engines.” 

“Max?” 

“No,” Sombra said, taking another drag in. “No, something bigger. There is a god program that controls other god programs, called A.R.K.E. It’s behind everything - Overwatch, Talon, LumeriCo, you name it. It was the one that sent the shapeshifter after Angela. It was the one that invaded Athena and got Angela shot.”

“Why would a god program be after Angela, pray tell?” Moira said, impatiently. “Is it after her tech?” 

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “It’s after me. And she knows the quickest way to get to me is through Angela. So.”

Moira paused, considering her words carefully. 

“Why?” She asked, finally. 

“Why what?” 

“Why is she the quickest way to get to  _ you? _ ” Moira said, “Why  _ you _ ?” 

Sombra sighed, pulling her head up in a bun. Her implants glowed slightly under the pale daylight, thrumming with her own heartbeat. She tapped one side and it flared up like rippling water. 

“I’ve got things in here Arke wants desperately. Don’t think you are special. I only got into Talon because I’m going to tear that motherfucker down,” she said, lowly, voice dangerous and hushed. “I had reasons before, now even more so. As of Angela,” she eyed her, “That’s none of your business. What I know is that she loved you hard enough to almost never love anyone else in her life, but now she loves me. And she loves me because unlike you, I treated her like an actual human being, not as means to an end.”

Moira raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone is a means to an end,” Moira said, slowly. “You are just nicer about it. She is the means to your happiness, she was the means to my pleasure, we use and we are used by people all the time. I don’t understand why people make such a huge deal with it. We only have human relationships because they mean something to us egotistically.”

Sombra eyed her, mouth agape, for a solid second before closing her mouth shut. 

“You are one huge fucking asshole,” she said, clipped. 

“I’m not the one saying that. That’s Ayn Rand,” Moira offered. 

“You’re not helping your case,” Sombra said. “Just because  _ you _ see people as tools doesn’t mean they like to be used. I don’t know how to explain to you that you should care about other people, Moira. Not only because they matter as people, but because we can’t just- walk around life hurting everyone and pretending it is  _ okay _ because at least you’re being authentic to yourself, or whatever it is. That’s basic fucking humanity. There’s no way I’m gonna waste my breath telling you how to be a decent person.”

“That’s rich of you to say,” Moira snarked, turning to her. “Aren’t you the one who made an entire career out of blackmailing people? How are you any better than me?” 

Sombra eyed her with something akin to understanding. But that quickly shifted into something colder, more contained and infinitely more painful that she couldn’t quite name. 

“I know I’m wrong,” she said, quietly. “I know I fuck up, O’Deorain. I’ve never claimed to be a saint. That’s why I’m better than you, because I’m not an hypocritical narcissist with a flag pole shoved seven feet up my ass.”

Moira gasped, taking a step back. They stared at each other then, the world’s longest staring game, until Sombra sighed and rubbed her eyes. 

“Whatever,” she shrugged. “You are a flaming piece of shit, but you saved Angela’s life-”

“Not quite,” she protested.

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Sombra said, exasperated. “You saved her. She would be dead if it wasn’t for you. So that means I’m in your debt. Use it wisely.”

Moira took in a shaky breath, finally quiet. Her fingers trembled, and she was about to answer when she saw Amari sprinting out of the hospital in the rain in their direction. 

“Oh shit,” Moira said, foreseeing the disaster. 

“Moira,” Amari said, gasping for air and thick black hair sticking to her face because of the rain, “We need you to come back.” 

“What?” Sombra squealed, “What happened?” 

“The surgery is done, but they couldn’t stabilize her,” Amari said. “She’s in a coma, and- They are transferring her to another hospital. Her case is-”

“Amari,” Moira said, sternly. “Spill it.”

“Carol said-” she said, and she paused, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “Carol said if we can’t find a way to fix it  _ soon _ , she’ll have a week at most,” Amari said, finally, and while Sombra let out broken wail and fell down to the sidewalk, Moira felt the rain drenching her hair and face while the world became one mess of white noise and desperation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some important links to share:   
> [Sistema Único de Saúde](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sistema_%C3%9Anico_de_Sa%C3%BAde). It is, of course, under attack in this new administration, but it is also one of the most revolutionary ideas in Brazil. Here's hoping it'll stay that way.   
> [Hospital João XXIII](https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hospital_Jo%C3%A3o_XXIII). Reference in Latin America for trauma, burns or poisonings. Also the place of my mom's favorite threats to take me if I didn't stop climbing on that tree or so help me God-  
> As always, thanks to Noxie for beta and Buttons for legit writing this whole thing with me. The medical speak is all on her - as that one show "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" aptly put it, being a lawyer means my "only expertise is running up fees and speaking legalese lika a dick".

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back on tumblr for those of you who are into that weird shit, hit me up on http://lazy-universes.tumblr.com/


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